


Training Wheels

by MarzgaPerez



Series: Together, Apart [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Daddy Gallavich, Domestic Fluff, Feels, Flashbacks, Gallavich breaks my heart then puts it back together, Healing, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of past trauma/rape, Post prison blues, Reunion Sex, Yev being the most angelic child ever, season 6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2020-11-22 06:17:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20869562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarzgaPerez/pseuds/MarzgaPerez
Summary: Part 3 of a Season 6 Fix-It. The anticipation of Mickey’s release from prison is building. They know everything won’t be perfect, but this is Ian and Mickey’s chance to start over and be a family with Yev.





	1. Chapter 1

“We’re gonna do everything right this time. No more fucking things up.” Ian pressed the phone against his ear, a warmth growing in his chest, along with the comforting notion that their world wasn’t spinning out of control anymore. 

“But it’s us, you know. We might fuck things up a little.” Ian could feel Mickey’s grin through the phone, could practically see him leaning against the cement wall, his voice low and one hand tucked in the pocket of that hideous orange uniform. The only thing that could make that garment worse was if it came in bright yellow.

“Yeah, maybe, but let’s not actively try.”

“You have my word, Gallagher. You tell Yev the news?”

“Not yet. Figured it was your news to share.” Ian craned his neck to put eyes on the little boy, who was seated at their small kitchen table, eating a snack before dinner and telling Svetlana about his day. 

“Really? Only you and Lana know? The two most gossipy pair of bitches on the Southside kept this a secret?” Mickey snarked.

“Ha-ha. Fuck you!” Ian couldn’t help but laugh, happy that Mickey was starting to sound like his old shit-talking self again. Mickey knew that he and Svetlana weren’t particularly chummy, it was more of a co-existence they’d settled into for Yev’s sake. 

“So, Mick. Do you want to talk to Yev over the phone, or tell him in person?”

Mickey paused, humming indecisively. “Probably better in person. You think this weekend might be too soon? I don’t wanna confuse the kid since I’ve still got a few months in here.”

“In person—that’s the right call. This weekend. I can start dropping hints. Maybe point out where all your stuff is gonna go, like your toothbrush and your clothes?” Ian suggested.

“My clothes? Terry’s probably burned all my shit by now.”

Ian sighed. “Sorry, but I wasn’t exactly looking forward to going over to your old place, not a fan of spending time with Terry. Was hoping one of your siblings could handle it.”

“Fine. There’s still time. I’m not going anywhere. Just get me a toothbrush with soft bristles. Remember the brand I like?”

Ian smiled. As a matter of fact, he was pretty much smiling all the time now. He had to admit that all of this domestic shit with Mickey was something he was looking forward to. They’d earned some peace and quiet, and it would be nice to finally have some uncomplicated life problems, void of their usual heavy drama and heartache. 

“Yeah, Mick. I remember. And soft bristles.” 

^^^^^^^^^^

The discussion about Mickey’s toothbrush gave Ian an idea. After he’d taken Yev to see Mickey, after they’d told him the news, that Mickey was finishing up his time behind the “window” and that he’d be home with them in a few months, after Yev’s eyes grew wide and he’d squealed with delight, after they’d said their good-byes and exchanged high fives with their favorite guard, Larry, Ian decided to take Yev shopping at the drugstore near their apartment. 

He told Yev that every week they could buy something and place it in the apartment for Mickey. They’d start with a toothbrush and then add shampoo and soap and maybe some of Mickey’s favorite scented candles—pumpkin spice—though his tough-as-nails boyfriend would never fess up to being so basic.

_Where will he sleep?_ Yev had asked, and Ian gently explained that Mickey would stay with Ian in his room because they loved each other like a mommy and daddy, only sometimes two daddies loved each other, or two mommies loved each other. It wasn’t the first time Yev had asked about this, and it wouldn’t be the last, but he seemed satisfied with the explanation for the time being. 

What hadn’t been determined was how long Svetlana would stay with them in the apartment. Per a recent conversation, she was close to landing “a rock” from her current suitor, which meant a wedding and a green card sometime in the near future. Whatever happened, Ian hoped they could agree on an arrangement so all three adults could be a part of Yev’s life. 

After their brief shopping trip—Yev had picked out an orange toothbrush for Mickey—Ian drove them over to the Gallagher house for a visit. Just Fiona and Liam were there, and Fiona asked Ian why he looked like the cat that swallowed the canary. He shrugged and pressed his finger over his lips, glancing at Yev, who knew not to say anything, though Ian was unsure how long he would stay quiet, sending him upstairs to play with Liam and hoping for the best.

Ian was waiting for the go-ahead from Mickey to be able to spill the beans with his own siblings. He figured Mandy might text him once she’d heard the news. Ian had tried to stay in touch with her over the past couple of years, not as much as he would have liked, but maybe now with Mickey out of prison, they’d have more opportunities.

“How’s Mickey doin’?” Fiona asked, handing Ian a cup of coffee and joining him at the kitchen table.

“You know, hanging in there,” Ian shrugged, glancing at his phone.

“Well, you’re actin’ kinda weird. Everything okay?”

_Aww, fuck it. I have to tell Fiona._

“Mickey’s getting out early! In a few months!” he blurted out, watching his sister’s eyes grow wide.

“Are you fuckin’ with me?” she asked cautiously, leaning closer to him and trying to read his expression.

“Nope. It’s true.” His hands landed on top of hers. “They overturned the original verdict and reduced the charges. He had to plead guilty, but he’ll be a free man soon!”

“Ian! That’s amazing!” Fiona shrieked and jumped out of her chair to give him a huge hug. 

“Thanks, Fi. It’s such a relief, you know? We get to start our life together. Finally.”

“Hell yeah! And you’ve worked so hard, raisin’ Yev and getting your shit together. I’m really fuckin’ proud of you.” Fiona ruffled his hair. “I think we need to celebrate!”

“Yeah, sure. Just gimme a sec. Mickey’s calling.” Ian smiled at his sister’s reaction and stepped onto the back porch to answer his phone.

“Hey, Mick! Can I start spreading the good news?”

“Yup. Left a message for Iggy, and just got off the phone with Mandy. She was bawling her eyes out.” Ian was pretty certain that Mickey may have been close to crying too, his voice shaky.

“Glad you got up with her. It’s been an emotional day. Get some rest, okay? I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“We’re so close now. So close. I have to keep telling myself ‘cause it hurts like hell when I think about how much I miss you.” Ian wanted to reach through the phone and stroke Mickey’s cheek. He remembered the sensation of finger tips on pale skin, the softness of Mickey’s lips. His taste—familiar and leaving him wanting more.

“You say that now, but you’re gonna get sick of me,” Mickey chuckled.

“Nah,” Ian said casually but then changed the tone in his voice, letting Mickey know what was on his mind. “We’ve got some makin’ up for lost time ahead of us...”

“Fuck,” Mickey groaned into the phone. “Don’t start with that shit. You know it drives me crazy.”

“That’s why I do it. And I know what I’ll be doing tonight and who I’ll be thinking about the whole time.”

“Oh yeah?” Mickey growled back. “It’s a date, Gallagher.”

^^^^^^^^^^

Now that Ian was free to tell everyone in his life about Mickey coming home, there wasn’t a person he regularly crossed paths with who didn’t know, even their fuckin’ mailman had gotten the memo. His co-workers made a countdown calendar, which they posted in the locker room, and started giving Ian shit about how he’d be in a much better mood once he got laid.

The Gallagher crew took Ian and Yev out for celebratory pizza, inviting Kevin and V and their girls to come along. Bottles were raised and clinked together as Lip made a toast to Ian and Mickey and their enduring love. 

But like with anything that seemed too good to be true, there came a few small doubts. Ian was usually the one stricken by these betrayals of the mind, believing that he somehow didn’t deserve to have stability and happiness, but this time, it was Mickey who seemed leaden with a sense of doom. 

When Ian asked Mickey why he was on edge during one of their recent visits, he had a perfectly logical explanation. Mickey was worried about getting mixed up in any stupid shit that would cause him to have an _extended stay_, as he put it. The word about his release had spread around the prison, and he feared retaliation from a couple of inmates with bad blood towards him. Or maybe even one of the guards who hated Mickey for using his charm and influence to get special treatment—extra time in the yard or double servings of dessert at dinner—would try to set him up. 

Ian, having suffered with bouts of paranoia previously, though it was hard to remember those days, acknowledged that Mickey’s fears weren’t unfounded, but discouraged him from letting them consume his every thought. He agreed that Mickey should lay low, keep his eyes on the prize, and get the fuck out of that place, as unscathed as possible. They decided to scale back on bringing Yev to visit and focus more on their future as a family away from the prison. 

And when those conversations started—about what it would be like for all of them to be together again—there was more of a change in Mickey’s demeanor. Ian wondered if he was experiencing some underlying anxiety around re-entering his old life in his new skin with new responsibilities. Ian knew that Mickey wanted to be a provider for his family. He’d written in one of his letters to Ian that he’d never felt more like a man than when they were living together in the Milkovich house, back when Terry was behind bars, and Mickey was scheming his ass off to keep them all fed and cared for. 

“So, on Tuesdays and Thursdays, Yev has swimming lessons after day care? I can take him the afternoons you’re working.” Mickey furrowed his brow as though he was making a mental “to do” list. 

“Svetlana can help, too. She and I usually take turns.”

“Oh...right. Guess you have to when you overbook your kid. Anything else?”

Ian chose to ignore what sounded like a snarky critique from Mickey. “Uh, let’s see. I signed him up for soccer in the fall. Mondays, I think. Can’t remember if I told you.”

“No, you didn’t fuckin’ tell me!” Mickey raised his voice, and did nothing to hide his disapproval. “Soccer? Kid’s gonna play baseball. Sign him up for t-ball.”

“Yeah, Mick. I know that’s what _you_ might want, but I let Yev decide,” Ian explained. “He’s been going to some of Carl’s games, and one of the moms from the daycare recommended this league.”

“I don’t know shit about soccer,” Mickey grumbled. “How the fuck am I supposed to help the kid? Baseball’s my sport—it should be Yev’s too.”

Ian didn’t know what to say. He supposed it was better for Mickey to be pushing for what he wanted for Yev, rather than accepting things he wasn’t happy about.

“Okay. Fine. Since I've already paid, he can try soccer in the fall and t-ball in the spring.”

“Fine,” Mickey scoffed and folded his arms in front of him. 

Ian moved onto another topic, something benign about having to change a flat tire on the ambulance the day before. Mickey feigned interest, but clearly his mind was elsewhere.

On the drive home, Ian thought about how Mickey had never questioned his decisions before when it came to Yev—this would be brand new territory for them.

A few days later, they got word about the tentative date for Mickey’s release—early September. The tension from their recent visit was put on the back burner as they had more important issues to think about.

Svetlana was all set to marry the well-off geezer she’d snagged. Apparently, he wanted to spend the rest of his days traveling the country in an RV with a hot piece of ass on his arm. But since Yev wasn’t going to fit into that picture, Svetlana had convinced the old goat to maintain his residence in Chicago, and she promised they could travel a few months out of the year.

She agreed to share custody of Yev with Mickey and Ian and to stay in the apartment until closer to the time when Mickey was released to help Yev ease into the changes. Ian had to admit he was proud of them for putting Yev first, grateful that the little boy had three parents who would do anything for him, which was more than any of them had ever had.

^^^^^^^^^^

The evening before Mickey’s release date finally arrived, and he was in the clear. No one at the prison had tried to fuck with him or make trouble as he’d feared. Several inmates were devastated to be losing “one of their best”. Mickey had actually been one of the peacekeepers, using force when he had to but largely minding his own business and urging others to do the same. Ian knew he’d spent a lot of time in the library, first it was law books and crime novels, and then Mickey had been pouring over technical manuals trying to figure out if there was a trade he wanted to go into. His biggest accomplishment was getting his GED, though he’d only mentioned it in randomly during one of their recent visits and Pretty much demanded that Ian not make a big deal about it. 

That night, Mickey made his final call from inside the prison walls to Ian. He had Ian swear up and down that there would be no fanfare, no party, no extra attention—not on his first day out of the joint and maybe not for awhile. Ian knew Mickey was exerting control where he could, having talked about it with his therapist in his own efforts to prepare for the changes they would face.

“Fuck. This time tomorrow, you’re gonna be here with us. I can’t believe it, I just can’t.”

“Don’t sound so excited,” teased Mickey. “If I’m being honest, I’m most looking forward to being able to close the door when I take a shit.”

“Ha! Not likely since you have a kid who’s gonna want your attention 24/7.”

“Oh, right. You think Yev really knows what’s going on?”

“Hell, yeah,” Ian reassured him. “We went grocery shopping today. Stocked the place with all your favorites. But...uh...are you sure about all this?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Ian hadn’t wanted to say anything, but he’d begun to worry that the life he’d been trying to make for them on the outside, the one he’d involved Mickey in as much as was humanly possible, wasn’t exactly what Mickey had envisioned or even wanted now. “Well, Mick...it’s just…”

“Why you gotta rain on our parade, Gallagher?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. Shitty timing. I just wanted to make sure you know what you’re getting into.”

“Why?” Mickey asked, trying to figure out where Ian was going with this. “What am I getting into?

“You know, domestic life. Boring ass shit. But that’s if we’re lucky. What if I start having problems again? Everything you did for me before, I don’t know if I ever thanked you like I should have or appreciated you like I should have. And I can never be cured, you know. I’m a ticking time bomb. How’s it gonna be when—”

“Ian.” Mickey paused, letting the silence sink in before speaking again. “This is what I’ve wanted with you for a long time. Fuck, I may screw some shit up. We don’t know each other like we used to. I mean, we’re different now. There’s more to me than the convict behind the glass, and there’s more to you than the guy who’s been running himself ragged taking care of everything. But no matter what, it’s always an adventure with you.”

_Fucking Mickey_, he always knew what Ian needed to hear, and he saved his most thoughtful words for when he needed them the most. 

“You’re right.” There was more that Ian wanted to say, but it was mostly sentimental crap, and he figured he’d save it for when he was with Mickey in person. Per the instructions he’d received from the warden, Mickey was scheduled for release at 7am, and he and Yev would be there to pick him up. 

After saying their goodbyes, Ian went to the kitchen to put a few dishes away. He walked in and out of all the rooms, making sure everything was in place. Svetlana had cleared all of her bricabrack out just a few days ago, and the main room was no longer her sanctuary that Ian mostly tiptoed around. He figured between Mickey being a slob, and Yev being a typical kid, the entire place would be a mess in no time. Part of him was looking forward to it. 

He went into his bedroom, what would soon be “their” bedroom and opened the closet door, flipping on a light. He’d made a “side” for Mickey and stopped to pass the back of his hand over the worn and familiar shirts hanging there. Mickey had told him not to bother packing him a change of clothes. He’d wear whatever the prison issued, and then they’d have something to burn ceremoniously. 

Ian didn’t know what to do with himself, anxious and excited and part of him still in disbelief; there was no way he’d be able to sleep, but he had to try. He checked on Yev before turning in for the night.

The nightlight in his room provided a soft glow, which made the floor was visible, in case there were errant Legos or toys lying around. Ian glanced over at the outfit Yev had picked out. Svetlana had actually bought it for him, a stylish Polo shirt and a pair of khaki cargo shorts.

He leaned down to kiss the sleeping boy’s temple, as was his custom every night. It would be strange when he started spending every other week at Svetlana’s new place. Ian wasn’t looking forward to that. Much like his love for Mickey, the chance to take care of and nurture Yev had helped guide him back to being the person he always thought he was meant to be. 

He hadn’t breathed a word of this to Mickey, but one day, when things were more settled, he’d like for them to think about having another child.

It was probably sometime after midnight when Ian fell asleep, clutching a pillow against his chest, his thoughts fading into darkness. But just before he drifted off, his mind settled on the memory of the first time he and Mickey had been together, the way Mickey had shocked him but at the same time, confirmed that there had been something building between them. It was quick and satisfying, as they frantically rutted against one another, using each other’s bodies for their own pleasure. The connection didn’t mean much to either of them in the moment, but it paved the way for an itch that neither of them could stop scratching, an addiction that no amount of rehab could cure, and now they finally had a chance to make something that was unbreakable and enduring.

_No pressure or anything_, as Mickey would say.

^^^^^^^^^^

Ian’s alarm began blaring at 5am. He shook himself awake, shaved, and grabbed a shower, taking longer than he meant to, but the warm water felt soothing against his skin, and he wanted to be fully awake for everything that was ahead of him. 

Unlike Yev, Ian wouldn’t be wearing anything brand new for the pick-up, but he did pick out a shirt and a pair of jeans that were in pretty good shape, and he put on a sweater over top of the shirt, oatmeal colored with three medium-sized dark brown buttons. He would take it off he got too warm, but Chicago mornings could be tricky in the fall. 

While he was thinking about it, Ian went to the closet in the front of the apartment to grab a jacket for Yev and one for Mickey as well. He made his way into the kitchen for some coffee and sat down at the table, stretching his long legs in front of him.

_Shit, this is really happening_, he thought. He was almost paralyzed with the different emotions flooding his senses, and then came the worry. 

_What if he doesn’t like this place? This neighborhood? What if he thinks the way we’ve been raising Yev is all wrong? What if he can’t find a job? What if he becomes resentful of the way I can support him, want to support him, until he figures out what he’s gonna do? What if he wakes up one morning and realizes he has freedom now, so why the fuck would he stay with me?_

Ian took a deep breath and gulped his coffee, the hot liquid on his tongue snapping him back to reality as he heard soft footsteps passing over the rug in the living room, the floor creaking as it always did in that certain spot. A sleepy Yev, armed with his stuffed walrus, appeared in the doorway of the kitchen. 

“Is he here?”

Ian held out his arms, waiting for Yev to come over and give him a hug to start the day. He pulled Yev and the walrus into his lap. “Is who here, buddy?”

“My daddy…”

Ian chuckled softly. “Almost. We’re gonna pick him up, remember? And he’s gonna ride in the back seat with you and little Mickey.” Ian patted the head of the walrus.

“And my mommy?” Yev yawned and pressed his head against Ian’s chest. 

“She’s still traveling with her friend, Papa Henry.” That’s all Ian wanted to say for the moment. They hadn’t fully explained to Yev that he’d have another home across town once Svetlana got back from her elopement/honeymoon. Besides, Mickey wanted to meet her new husband before he would agree to Yev staying over somewhere else. This wasn’t anything Ian had even mentioned to Svetlana yet. He wanted to keep everything amicable between them.

“Can I have cereal before we go?”

“Yeah, of course. Let’s both have some. Then we can brush our teeth, get you dressed, and head over to get your daddy.” Ian lifted Yev over to his seat at the table and poured cereal and milk for both of them. Yev didn’t dawdle as much with meals as he used to, so as anxious as Ian was to get on the road, he didn’t rush the boy. 

They were quieter than usual as they readied things, probably because it was on the early side, and Yev seemed to have a way of knowing when Ian was lost in his own thoughts or concentrating heavily on something. Ian was, in fact, trying to think of anything Mickey might possibly need, even though it would be a 45 minute ride back to the apartment, maybe a little longer if they got stuck in traffic. 

He already had Mickey’s jacket set aside, and next it to on the chair in the main room was a brown paper bag containing a chocolate chip banana nut muffin Ian had picked up the night before from a bakery close to his job. He was sure Mickey would like, and he filled a thermos of coffee to go along with it.

While Yev made one last trip to the bathroom, Ian smoothed down pillows and straightened a few frames on the walls. 

_God, I need to cut myself some slack. Even if everything isn’t perfect, Mickey’s gonna like it here. I know he will. He’ll be with us. He’ll be with me. He’ll be free. _

This was the mantra that Ian repeated to himself on the drive to the prison. Traffic was light this time of day. Ian was actually glad that he was so familiar with the route because it was still dark outside, and the last thing he needed to worry about was getting lost. 

They were getting closer now, and much to his surprise, with every mile behind them, Ian was feeling calmer and calmer. That used to happen to him when he first started as an EMT. An emergency call would come in, a middle-aged man in cardiac arrest or a teenager who had overdosed on sleeping pills. Ian would freeze up, a complete bundle of nerves, wracking his brain to remember the protocols he’d need to follow when they arrived. But the closer they got to the scene, sirens blaring to alert the vehicles in front of them, he would have this clarity all of a sudden, that everything was going to be okay, whatever the outcome. 

When they pulled up to the check-in station, the elderly guard who was usually all business and no chit-chat actually smiled at Ian as he handed him his ID back. “Good luck, son.” 

Yev was seated as far up on his car seat as possible, though he was very much restrained by the five-point harness. “Is Daddy waiting outside?” he asked, breaking the silence that he’d held for the entire trip. 

“Sweet boy, I think we have to drive around to the other side.” Ian followed the instructions that he’d received via email to a different side of the prison from where the visitors entered. There was a solid brown door carved into a solid brown wall with a lone light bulb positioned next to the door and still glowing as the early morning sun was beginning to make an appearance. Ian noticed a bell with a sign that said “ring for service.”

He parked next to the curb and rushed to the back of the car to unbuckle Yev and get him into his jacket. He hoped they were in the right place. The entire compound was eerily quiet. Ian took a deep breath and pressed on the bell, hearing it vibrate on the other side of the door. He heard voices, and he stepped back as the door swung wide open. A guard appeared in the doorway and spoke to him in a loud, commanding voice. “Ian Gallagher?”

“Yes, sir.” Ian would have put his hand to his temple to salute the man, an instinct that had stuck with him since his days in JROTC, had he not been holding Yev. This guy was clearly ex-military.

The guard looked back inside, over his shoulder, muttering from the corner of his mouth, “Ride’s here, Milkovich.” He stepped out of the way and behind him was the most beautiful sight Ian had seen in a long time. Maybe ever. 


	2. Chapter 2

“Let’s get the fuck outta here,” Mickey gruffed, the first words out of his mouth as he stopped to greet Ian and Yev.

Ian was speechless for a few seconds, taking in the sight of Mickey. His beautiful blue eyes sparkled brighter in the low light of the morning than they had for three years behind the visitation booth. Even in the ill-fitting jeans and over-sized black sweatshirt, he was still fucking adorable. Mickey managed a smile for Yev, but was clearly ready to put as much space between him and the prison as possible.

“Sit with me, Daddy.”

“Sure thing, Yev. Is the back door open, Gallagher?”

If Mickey hadn’t seemed so tense, Ian would have cracked a joke about his question. Instead, he stammered out a yes and opened the door as fast as possible to put Yev in his car seat and buckle him in. Mickey was already situated next to Yev by the time Ian got into the driver’s seat. 

He turned around to look at both of his guys. “Uh, everything okay?” 

Yev nodded happily, holding onto one of Mickey’s fingers as his father patted the boy’s unruly curls. 

“Course it is.” Mickey leaned forward to rest a hand on Ian’s shoulder. “Let’s go. You can pull over once we get outta this hell hole.” 

Ian finally understood. He had been imagining a Hollywood reunion complete with a passionate make-out session while Yev clapped with joy and the guard at the door gave them an “aww, shucks” kind of look, maybe even threw in a slow clap. But Mickey wasn’t going to feel free until he was off the prison grounds. 

Ian didn’t waste any time driving around the twists and turns that had taken him to the pick-up spot, past the check-in station, and towards the road that would take them home. He turned left, seeing for the last time the dark green and tattered sign that marked where Mickey had lived for the past three years. 

It was probably less than a mile away, after seeing Mickey in the rear view mirror, kissing Yev’s little hand and asking for permission to give his walrus a hug, that he heard from the back seat, “Pull over, Gallagher.”

He obliged, turning into the gravel lot of a business that wouldn’t be open for at least another hour. Ian put the car in park and turned off the engine, telling Yev to “hold tight” as he popped open his door and sprinted to the other side of the car where Mickey was just getting out. He hastily pinned him against the open door, grasping the sides of Mickey’s face as their lips smashed together. The kiss was wet and sloppy, tongues wrestling for dominance, teeth grazing over hungry lips, and it didn’t last nearly as long as they wanted, not with Yev beginning to call for them.

Ian and Mickey ducked their heads into the car. “We’re right here,” Mickey said cheerfully. 

“Yeah, I just really needed to say a proper ‘hello’ to your daddy. Sorry, bud.”

Yev seemed content with their explanation, but it was time to get back on the road. Mickey was climbing into the car when Ian pulled him back up. “Hey! You had me worried back there.”

“Sorry, man. They were fucking with me this morning, saying they got the wrong date for my release. I was gettin’ all anxious, and they finally quit that shit, but I wasn’t about to give them a show when you got there.”

“Jesus! What a bunch of dicks.”

“Yeah, I said my goodbyes to Larry and Sheila yesterday. But the rest of those blowhards? Fuck ‘em!” Mickey yelled out, his head turned in the direction from where they’d just come. 

_Mickey, language. The kid_, Ian thought to himself. But he let him have that one. 

“Let’s get you home and burn this damn getup. I’d be, uh, more than happy to help you get it off,” Ian said suggestively, pressing into the man he was now desperate to ravage. 

“C’mon, Ian. The kid,” Mickey reminded him with a scolding tone. “But I guess you actually missed me, huh?” he teased, kissing Ian gently on the mouth. “Down boy.”

The rest of the drive back to the apartment was uneventful. Mickey devoured the coffee and muffin that Ian had brought for him, giving Yev a piece to try—he was not a fan of the flavor combination. As they drove further into the city and through the old neighborhood, Ian watched Mickey’s transformation in the rearview mirror from a man wound tight from being caged 24/7 to a much more relaxed and chill Southie. Resting the back of his head against the seat, Mickey cracked the window just enough to breathe in the familiar air. 

“Anywhere you wanna go first? I dunno, a park? A diner to get some breakfast?” Ian asked, realizing that everything he had been taking for granted for a long time had a whole new meaning through Mickey’s eyes. 

“You got stuff at our place for breakfast? Eggs and shit?” Mickey noticed Ian’s eye widening. “I mean, eggs and...stuff.” This was going to be the most challenging thing for Mickey now that he had his freedom—limiting his language in front of Yev. 

Ian nodded in response, a sensation over-taking him that kept him from speaking, at the sound of the words “our place,” coming from Mickey. _Fuck, fuck, fuck_. He was trying really hard not to cry. 

“Okay, good. We’ll whip something up at home. Maybe go for a walk later.” He turned to Yev. “Do you still take naps, kid? Cuz I’m gonna need one today. Didn’t sleep at all last night.” 

Yev shook his head “no” to the nap question and continued staring at Mickey as he had done for most of the ride, watching his every move, taking him in. Ian could tell he was fascinated. And maybe just for this special day, he would lay down with Mickey and take a nap. He still took one when he went to daycare, just not when he was at home with Ian and Svetlana. 

“But sometimes you take a nap, right?” asked Ian. “If you’re really cranky?”

“Yeah,” Yev murmured, suddenly shy to have the attention of both men. 

Ian found a parking space just a block away from their apartment. He’d described the location to Mickey, sent him pictures, but he still didn’t truly know what Mickey would think. They had a second floor unit, nothing fancy, but it was close to the L. Fiona knew a guy from the diner where she used to work, who had a friend who knew about the unit becoming available, and she’d made sure he got it. 

“We’re here,” chirped Ian, turning around in his seat, surprised that Mickey had figured out how to unfasten Yev. But it wasn’t his first time at the rodeo, Ian remembered. Mickey had carted Yev around plenty when he was an infant. This was just a slightly larger version of the car seat they’d had for him back then. 

Seeing that he had everything handled, Ian got out of the car and went over to the sidewalk to wait for his two guys to emerge. He’d barely noticed the plastic bag Mickey must have brought with him from the prison. “All your worldly possessions?” he asked, gesturing towards the bag. 

“Yeah, you could say that. I gave all my toiletries and shit away, just kept your letters and photos and a few of the books you sent. Hope you don’t mind that I donated the rest to the library. Some of the guys were diggin’ that idea of reading to their kids.”

“No, I don’t mind at all,” Ian said softly, taking the bag from Mickey and squeezing his hand. “That’s awesome, Mick.”

Mickey held onto Yev’s hand as he jumped out of the car. “You know where we are, kid?” 

Yev nodded proudly and pointed towards their apartment building. 

“Will you show me the way?” Mickey asked, which was an unnecessary question, seeing as how Yev was already pulling him in the direction of their home. Ian took Mickey’s other hand, almost surprised that he didn’t pull away or flinch. 

It dawned on Ian that he and Mickey hadn’t been together as a couple for very long before Ian’s bipolar disorder took over their lives, but this felt right, the three of them walking together and not giving a fuck what anybody else thought. It was a long time in the making. 

When they arrived at the front of the building, Ian unlocked the front door and ushered them inside and over to the stairs, letting Yev continue in front of them, still intent on being Mickey’s guide. 

Once inside the apartment, Ian barely had the chance to pull Mickey into another embrace before Yev had his tiny hand wrapped around Mickey’s index finger, giving him the ten cent tour of their place, including where they’d put Mickey’s toothbrush and other toiletries. Ian started to follow along but decided to work on breakfast instead, since they were all hungry at this point. Ian had taken a few days off so there were no plans, no obligations, no work to rush off to. The Gallaghers knew not to come calling until they got the go-ahead, but Ian did send out a group text message to let them know Mickey was now officially an “ex-con,” and that they were back at the apartment with Yev showing him the ropes.

Ian could hear Yev laughing at Mickey’s reaction to seeing his room and all of the toys that were overflowing from the storage bins. He hoped that Mickey realized his kid had never gone without, Ian made sure of that. 

While Ian finished making breakfast and Yev played in his room, Mickey jumped into the shower and shed himself of that god-awful get-up they’d given him to wear. It wasn’t long before he was back in the kitchen, wearing a shirt and jeans that Ian hadn’t seen in years. The clothes were a little loose since Mickey had lost a few pounds thanks to prison food, but they were a thousand times better than what he’d been wearing previously. Ian was thwarted from grabbing Mickey’s ass when he heard Yev heading in their direction. 

After a hearty meal of eggs, bacon, toast, and more coffee, Ian decided to set Yev in front of the television for an hour or so, just to give Mickey some time to decompress, but Mickey didn’t seem to want the time, plopping down next to Yev and asking him about his favorite shows. Ian sat down on the other side of Yev, his hand massaging Mickey’s shoulder and his neck. He knew their days wouldn’t always be like this, but he knew he couldn’t love Mickey any more than he did now, watching Mickey put Yev’s needs above his own, above their own. 

They decided to walk to the park closest to the apartment building to get some fresh air. Yev pointed to the row of bikes in the corner of the lobby. “Can I bring it?”

“No, not today.” Ian shook his head. “Next time. There isn’t much space for riding at the park where we’re going.”

“But can I show daddy my bike?”

“Sure.” 

Yev pulled Mickey over to the bikes and pointed to the tyke sized royal blue bike he’d gotten for his birthday, complete with training wheels and a bell on the handle bars.”

“Nice, Yev! We’ll have to take those training wheels off though.”

“Why?” Yev looked up at Mickey, and said matter-of-factly, “I’m still using them.”

Mickey shrugged, patted him on the head and dinged the bell a few times, which delighted Yev. 

“Daddy, do you know how to ride?” he asked on their way out of the lobby.

“Sure do. Might even have my old bike around somewhere. We’ll have to go riding sometime, okay?” 

Yev nodded, and they continued towards the park, stopping for a minute to let Yev pet a puppy that an elderly lady was walking. 

Mickey seized the opportunity while Yev was distracted to share his feelings with Ian on the matter of Yev’s bike. “Are you _effing_ kidding me?” he muttered. “We never got training wheels. You either figured it out, or you got fucked up.” 

Ian couldn’t tell if Mickey was serious or not, but he pushed back. “Is that a lesson from the Terry Milkovich School of Hard Knocks? How’d that work out?”

“Touché. But still...might need to toughen that kid up a little bit,” Mickey gestured towards the boy as the puppy jumped on top of him and began licking his face.

“Yev may be kind-hearted, but he’s no pushover. Anyway, what do training wheels have to do with how tough he is? I just want him to be able to ride a bike.” 

Yev rejoined them, waving goodbye to the elderly lady and her puppy. Ian noticed that Mickey was quiet again and hadn’t said too much, other than his mini-rant about Yev’s bike, but once they arrived at the park, he managed to work in a comment about how nice the apartment was, how he appreciated having his things and everything he needed at his fingertips. It was probably his way of making up for sounding like a jackass earlier.

Ian told him about a few more boxes that Iggy had brought over that Ian had put in their basement storage. 

“I think it’s CDs, maybe some books, papers of yours. I didn’t go through them once I figured out which boxes had your clothes.”

“Thanks, Gallagher. Yeah, I owe Iggy a text. Mandy, too.”

“Oh, shit!” Ian almost shouted. Mickey turned to give him an admonishing look. “What? Can’t help it when I’m around you.” Yev looked up at the two of them to try to figure out what was so funny. 

“No, no. Don’t pin this on me,” Mickey insisted. “That’s your potty mouth.”

“Fine, you’re right. Forgot to tell you I got you a cell phone. I meant to give it to you earlier. Use mine to call Iggy and Mandy if you want.” 

Ian handed Mickey his phone and nodded over to one of the benches in the park. He took Yev by the hand and suggested the swings, telling him that his daddy needed to speak to Uncle Iggy and Aunt Mandy. Yev had a vague notion of who they were, having seen pictures of Mandy, and they’d run into Iggy a few times since he still lived in Chicago. 

Ian kept Yev occupied for a good twenty minutes until Mickey came over to where they were and handed Ian the phone. 

“Thanks, man. All good. Mandy sends her regards, will text soon, and Iggy said he left some money for me.”

Ian remembered the envelope Iggy had asked him to give Mickey. “He did leave something for you. An envelope with your name. I put it in the drawer by the bed, didn’t realize it was money.”

“No biggie. But you didn’t think it was a letter, did you? Iggy’s not much of a writer.”

“Yeah,” Ian laughed, “I guess I did.” Even though he didn’t ask Mickey about the money or what it was for, Mickey must have sensed his curiosity was piqued. 

“It was money he owed me and some he was holding for me. I wanna start helping out with the rent and shit as soon as possible, you know.”

Ian remained quiet and continued pushing Yev on the swing. It was probably time to move onto the slide. 

“What?” asked Mickey. “Is that a problem?”

“No.” Ian helped Yev slow the swing until it came to a stop. He hopped off and headed over to the playground, spotting another little boy and losing interest, for the moment, in what the adults were talking about. 

“I just...don’t want you worrying about that shit today. Or for awhile. I got you, Mick. You don’t have to stress about money right now.”

“And I appreciate that, Ian. But I gotta do this for me, too.” Ian turned to look at Mickey, afraid that maybe he’d offended him somehow. But Mickey’s expression was soft, his eyes searching Ian’s for understanding, maybe even approval.

“Sure, you’re right. However you wanna do it, just so long as—”

“Yeah, I know. I’m not getting mixed up in any of my brother’s bullshit and definitely nothing that’s gonna land me back in that place. No fuckin’ way.”

Ian nodded, grateful that he didn’t have to say as much out loud; Mickey could already tell what he was thinking. 

They took a seat on a nearby bench, watching Yev and waving at him when he took a long enough break from his playmate to acknowledge them. Mickey nudged Ian’s knee playfully.

“So...what do you think? Isn’t this fuckin’ nuts? Me and you, hanging out with Yev at a goddamn playground?” 

Ian rested his hand on top of Mickey’s. “It’s surreal. Not gonna lie though, I really wanna fuck you,” he whispered just loud enough for Mickey to hear.

“Well, okay then,” Mickey let out a sudden burst of laughter, which caught Yev’s attention and the attention of the mother who was sitting on a different bench.

“It’s Ian,” Mickey shouted over to Yev. “He’s hilarious!”

Yev smiled and went back to whatever game he’d invented with his new friend.

Mickey bit into his lip and glanced around the playground, as though he had to worry about someone eavesdropping on their conversation. “Tonight. Just gotta wait until Yev goes to bed. How’d your folks manage it with all you little shits running around?”

“Ha! Do you actually think they gave a fuck if or what we saw? Anyway, I can wait until tonight. I just wanted you to know,” Ian stroked the skin on the side of Mickey’s neck, “...what you do to me. It never went away.”

Mickey leaned over to give him a quick kiss. “Same for me.”

They let Yev play for a few more minutes before buying lunch and walking back to the apartment. Yev was sucking on a lollipop and walking in between them, his free hand clutching Mickey’s.

Mickey talked about how he was enjoying the fresh air and the freedom to move about without everyone’s eyes on him. 

“I have to keep reminding myself I’m not under a microscope. It’s strange cuz being inside also gives you a sense of routine, belonging. There’s a guy from my block who got out a few months back. I’ll probably get up with him, see how he’s doing.” 

“Yeah, makes sense. I’ve been doing some reading about what it’s like…”

“Some reading,” Mickey scoffed but then relented. “Naw, I know you’re just trying to help me ease back into things and become a functional member of society. You’ve done a lot for me already, for us.” 

“I want to be here for you. And to be honest, I needed to hear that from you, which sounds kinda selfish, I guess, considering that you’re the one who—”

“C’mere,” Mickey purred, stopping them in their tracks long enough to kiss Ian and mercifully silence his blathering. Then he scooped Yev into his arms and asked him if he wanted a piggy back ride. His answer was an emphatic “yes!”

They ate lunch together in the apartment, played with some of Yev’s toys, and Mickey was somehow able to convince Yev to lie down for a nap. He was definitely tired after getting up early that morning and fell asleep with little coaxing. Once Yev’s chatter had quieted, Ian checked in on them. Seeing that Mickey was still awake, he offered to put Yev in his own bed, but Mickey seemed happier to snuggle with the little guy. 

“We don’t want him to get used to sleeping in our room, ‘cause once he starts…”

“C’mon. It’s a special occasion,” said Mickey. “Why don’t you lay down with us?” 

“I don’t know.” Ian hovered in the doorway, briefly thinking about the pile of laundry waiting for him, but then cursed himself silently for passing up an opportunity to be close to Mickey. So what if they had their whole lives ahead of them, today was special. 

He tiptoed into the room and placed a pillow near the edge of the bed next to Yev, just in case he rolled over. Mickey made a space for him, lifting himself up long enough for Ian to get situated before pressing his back against Ian’s chest. “Mmmm, this feels about right,” Mickey murmured. “It’s quiet and dark with a comfortable mattress and my two favorite guys here with me.”

Ian was now tracing the tip of his nose along Mickey’s neck and inhaling his scent. He was quite aware of Mickey’s quickening pulse, as it matched his own. He gently cupped his boyfriend’s face and brought his lips in line with his own. 

“These lips. I missed them so much. I’ve missed kissing them,” he paused to gently press his lips against Mickey’s. He held them there, just a few seconds longer than he’d intended, and that’s when Ian’s tears began flowing. Tears of relief and joy...and just because.

“It’s okay, Ian. I’m here now. Not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me.” 

Ian fell into a deep sleep to those soothing words, and he didn’t wake up until much later, long after the light in the room had changed. He noticed the space next to him was empty, and panicked for a split second, thinking he’d fallen asleep and left Yev to fend for himself but then realized Mickey was with them now.

Ian could hear voices and pots clanging in the kitchen, and he hopped out of bed to join them, rubbing his eyes as the light in the main room overwhelmed his senses. There was a delicious smell wafting through the apartment. 

“Guys? Whatcha doing?”

“In here,” squeaked a tiny voice, followed by a giggle, which meant Yev was up to something.

“All good!” boomed a second voice, confirming Yev had an accomplice. 

“Sounds like you two are—” He stopped in the doorway, his heart warmed by the sight of Yev standing on a kitchen chair next to Mickey, helping him layer lasagna noodles into a casserole dish. “I was gonna cook for your first night home, but I see that Yev beat me to it.” Ian went over to the little boy to ruffle his hair, and Yev beamed proudly in return.

“We didn’t want to wake you up. Seems like your tired, pale, uh…” Mickey stopped himself from saying the word _ass_. “Seems like _you_ needed some rest.” 

“Me?” asked Ian, wrapping an arm around Mickey’s shoulder and kissing him lightly on the temple. “I’ll be up all night now.” 

“And that’s a bad thing why?” Mickey smirked as he ladled sauce on top of the noodles.

“Me too! I’m gonna stay up!” yelled Yev, and Ian realized that Yev had probably needed that nap, but it would definitely delay his bedtime.

While the lasagna was in the oven, they took a quick walk around the block so Mickey could grab some cigarettes from the bodega. He had promised to quit for Yev’s sake but said he needed to hang onto one vice for now. Ian told him he didn’t care as long as Mickey smoked outside, yet secretly hoped he would keep his promise of quitting one day. It wasn’t a cheap habit, and he’d seen the effects of smoking on several of the people he’d been called to help. But he held his tongue for now.

Dinner was delicious, and Ian was impressed with Mickey’s culinary skills. “Mandy used to make lasagna for us. But that’s about the extent of my cooking,” he explained, helping himself to another serving. 

“Svet and I used to split the cooking duties. The good news is that Yev will pretty much eat anything.”

“Yeah, I will,” remarked Yev with traces of sauce around his mouth. Ian handed him a napkin. “Can we have ice cream for dessert?” His eyes darted back and forth between the two men. 

“Tomorrow,” they said in unison, amused by the fact that they were on the same page.

Ian got up to clear the dishes from the table, and he and Mickey washed up while Yev watched cartoons. They would have finished faster had they concentrated on getting the job done, but instead they exchanged knowing glances about what was ahead, which led to some mild, juvenile flirting with both of them slinging suds.

To stop another assault of soapy water, Ian pinned Mickey’s hands behind his back and pushed him against the counter, grinding against him and nipping at the spot on his neck, just below his ear lobe. “Why does washing dishes make me horny?” He growled. 

Mickey responded by grabbing Ian’s ass and pulling him closer. “Is it the dishes? Or because we haven’t banged in fucking forever?”

A low moan escaped Ian’s lips as he felt Mickey, hard against him, breath warm on his neck, and blue eyes flickering with want. Ian was resisting the urge to get down on his knees and show Mickey how much he’d missed him. 

Before he could stop himself, his fingers were undoing the button of Mickey’s jeans and yanking on the zipper, his lips muffling the protests from his boyfriend, as his hands dipped down into the waistband of Mickey’s boxers to make contact with a part of Mickey that he’d had countless dreams about over the past few years. He used to wake up with a need to finish what they’d started in the dream, stripping off whatever clothes he was wearing, letting the coolness of the air hit his warm skin, stroking himself until the sweet release came. But now he had the real Mickey standing in front of him, warm and throbbing under his touch.

“God, Mick. Y-you feel amazing.”

“I-Ian,” Mickey croaked, grabbing ahold of Ian’s wrist suddenly. “The kid.” 

Ian had his back to the main room, but could tell that Mickey’s were now trained on Yev. Coming back to himself and acting quickly, Ian wriggled his hand out of Mickey’s boxers and pulled his shirt down over the front of his jeans.

They both turned back to their kitchen duties, and Yev, seemingly uninterested in whatever they were up to, plodded over and asked about ice cream for the second time. Much to his dismay, his request was denied again. Before Yev’s whining reached a completely unbearable decibel, Mickey offered to help get him ready for bed and let him pick out a bedtime story.

Ian somehow managed to quell his all-consuming desire for Mickey and finished cleaning up the kitchen. It sounded like Mickey had the bedtime routine under control, so Ian turned off the light in the main room and walked into Yev’s room to tell him good-night. Snuggled up against his father with a book resting between them and his stuffed walrus in his arms, Yev looked like he was on cloud nine. Mickey did too, for that matter. 

Gone was the tension in his body that caused his shoulders to slump forward in the visitation booth. Gone was the strained smile he’d had to force onto his lips from behind the glass. And gone were the deep worry lines in his brow. Mickey looked five years younger in the glow of the lamp light.

“Ian!” Yev startled him from his reverie. “We picked out this one.” He held up a copy of _The Cat in the Hat_. 

“Great choice.” Ian leaned down to give Yev a hug. “See you in the morning, buddy. I love you.”

“Love you too! Me and daddy talked. You can take turns reading. Your night is tomorrow.”

“Great plan. I love it!” Ian smiled, pausing by the door. “It’s nice, Yev, isn’t it? Having your daddy home?”

“Oh, yes! And we have more things to show him. My school! The soccer park! Aunt Fiona’s house!”

Mickey and Ian chuckled at that last one. 

“Lots to see, Yev.” Mickey patted his arm. “It’s nice being here with you guys. I’m lucky to have you to show me around.”

Ian could have easily been on the verge of tears again, but eyeing Mickey before he turned to go, seeing him on his first night of freedom, embracing his role as father, sliding into the life Ian had so desperately wanted for them, brought back to the surface his overwhelming need to show Mickey how much he was in love with him.

“I’ll be waiting for you, Mick. Don’t stay up too late.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many kudos to my rockstar of a beta whaticameherefor for her ability to multitask!


	3. Chapter 3

The lights in the bedroom were turned off. Ian was stretched out on the bed in his t-shirt and jeans, trying to tame his thoughts and his erection, wanting this reunion to be mind-blowing for both of them. 

He’d left the door open a crack, and his breath caught in his throat when he realized Mickey was standing on the other side.

Ian started to speak, but as Mickey entered the room, he had his index finger over his lips, warning Ian to stay quiet. He slowly closed the door behind him and turned the lock. 

Ian thought Mickey would come to him right away. Instead, he stood with his back against the door, staring in Ian’s general direction, as though he wanted to remember everything about this moment—the stillness of the air, the way the lamp light from outside streamed through the slats of the blinds and made a noticeable pattern over the carpet.

It almost felt like one of the fantasies Ian would conjure up from time to time. His favorite was Mickey escaping from prison and coming straight to the apartment, entering stealthily, wordlessly, to satiate a need they both had and then disappearing into the darkness.

But this was real, after more than three years of waiting and trying to picture what this moment would be like. Now the man he’d loved and wanted for so long was finally within reach. 

Ian couldn’t hold back any longer. He rose up from the bed as Mickey remained coyly pressed against the door, waiting for Ian to make the first move. Before his lips collided with Mickey’s, soft, sweet words poured out before he could stop them, the “I need you’s” and “I want you’s” that he hadn’t been able to tell Mickey as many times as he’d have liked. 

Ian was experiencing a sensation he most closely associated with lava—the burning intensity he was feeling towards Mickey, the way their bodies were melting together, their mouths and tongues, even their breathing, moving rhythmically, fluidly.

Mickey had his hands pressed into the small of Ian’s back, deepening their kiss. Soft moans escaped from their lips as Mickey peppered soft kisses across Ian’s cheek, moving in the direction of his ear, whispering something about how they should take their time.

Ian was surprised at the restraint they’d shown for most of the day, questioning in his mind why they hadn’t done this sooner and wondering how the hell he was supposed to slow down now.

He pulled back, touching the tip of his nose against Mickey’s, breathing in his scent and telling himself they had all the time in the world to get reacquainted. This was different from those lust-filled fucks they’d enjoy after Mickey got out of juvie and came searching for Ian under the bleachers. Sure, both of them were better about sharing their feelings through words—they had to figure it out while Mickey was locked up—but physical contact had always been the most surefire way to express their love. It was one of the ways they could reconnect and begin to feel normal again.

Ian picked up Mickey’s hands, gripping them and bringing them to his lips and kissing over each knuckle, smiling as he brushed over the tattooed letters that were still sexy after all this time. He thought back to the way Mickey’s fingers would grip onto whatever he could—the fence in the dugout, the kitchen sink—as Ian took him from behind.

_ We’ll take this slow _, Ian conceded silently, even though he was ready to give everything to Mickey. He pulled his t-shirt over his head and took notice of Mickey’s eyes widening. Ian had been taking care of his body, but the thing that must have really caught Mickey’s attention was the tattoo Ian now had over his heart.

Mickey ghosted his fingers over the dark ink, delicate cursive letters that read “Mickey Milkovich.” He closed his eyes and opened them again quickly, as though he wanted to make sure what he was seeing was real. Ian could tell he’d surprised Mickey, which wasn’t an easy task. Nor had it been easy keeping the tattoo a secret, but it had been worth the wait. Mickey passed his thumb over the letters once more before remarking, “Bet yours didn’t hurt as much as mine.”

Ian smiled, giving that one to Mickey. He guided the tips of Mickey’s fingers back to his chest, a breath escaping his lips as Mickey delicately traced the sensitive skin around his nipples.

“I told them to make it hurt,” Ian moaned, his eyes closing as he arched his head back. “I told them I wanted to feel the burn, every prick of the needle going into my skin.” Ian tugged at the button of his jeans, wanting to free himself of every stitch of clothing.

“That’s pretty hot, Gallagher. Weird, but hot.” Mickey peeled off his own shirt, both of their eyes landing on the botched tattoo on his chest. He shook his head, muttering that he should get it fixed.

“Or change it altogether,” suggested Ian, one eyebrow raised. “Maybe I should take your last name.”

Mickey hummed in agreement as he pulled Ian’s jeans down around his thighs and ushered him towards the bed. “You know how marriage talk gets me going,” growled Mickey, wriggling Ian’s jeans all the way off and tossing them aside. They had talked about it before, vaguely, as something they would do one day. It seemed inevitable.

Mickey shucked off his jeans, too, as Ian watched from the bed, his heart racing, his own cock saluting the welcome sight of his nearly naked lover. Mickey dipped down beside him, propped up on one elbow, blue eyes staring down, filled with lust and love, taking in every imperfection that he had somehow, over all these years, come to see as perfection. Ian knew that feeling well because he, too, felt the same way. He pulled Mickey on top of him, needing the skin-to-skin contact, their bare chests pressed together, their breathing in sync. They’d barely touched in three years, but had been intimate enough times before to have memorized every dip and curve, every sensitive spot.

Right after they’d reconciled, with at least eight years of separation looming over them, they’d agreed to do what they needed to do to survive the long years apart. Ian had been tempted a few times, he wouldn’t lie if Mickey ever asked him. He’d even gone as far as making arrangements to meet up with someone he’d met online, but hadn’t followed through, not wanting to hurt Mickey, especially after all of the infidelity from before, when he was more controlled by his illness than he wanted to admit. 

And he wouldn’t bother asking Mickey if he’d been faithful. Nobody else mattered. No one could take care of Mickey the way he could. _ No one. _

The friction from rutting against each other was maddening but delicious. Ian plunged his fingers beneath the waistband of Mickey’s boxers and pressed into the perfectly rounded spheres that were Mickey’s ass, pulling him closer as the thin fabric between them left very little to the imagination.

“Touch me,” groaned Ian. “I need you.”

“Me too,” agreed Mickey, “but first…” He was nipping and biting his way across Ian’s chest and torso, running his tongue over the scant red hairs that trailed below his boxers. Mickey was on his knees in an instant, ridding Ian of his boxers and taking a few seconds to admire the throbbing nine inches that sprang up and bounced back and forth.

Ian was thrilled, that after these few years, his cock still seemed to inspire awe from his boyfriend. He was even more thrilled when Mickey gripped the base of it with one hand and stroked his length with the other. “Oh, God…” Ian had to clamp his hand over his mouth to muffle the whimpers coming from deep inside of him. He was almost embarrassed to be making such pathetic, needy sounds, until he saw what the noises were doing to Mickey.

“Jesus, Ian,” he groaned, whipping his own dick out and simultaneously jerking them both off. He seemed to be abandoning his original plan to take things slow, getting back on the bed and lining their cocks up to maximize contact. God, it was fucking heaven, especially after going so long without being able to touch each other.

“I wanna taste you,” rasped Ian between breaths. He put his hands squarely on Mickey’s hips to guide him into position for a 69—something he’d had on his mind for awhile—and moved towards the headboard, raising up just slightly with a pillow underneath his shoulders. Pulling Mickey’s ass towards him, Ian’s mouth began watering at the prospect of eating him out. He could feel Mickey’s warm breath just inches away from his own leaking cock.

“God, you’re beautiful. Missed you like this. Missed us...like this.” 

“Me too,” croaked Mickey, pushing back long enough for Ian to spread him open and go in for his first taste. 

“Mmmmm, so perfect.” Ian massaged the back of Mickey’s thick thighs, running his hands over his ass cheeks, stilled by the sensation of Mickey taking him down, imagining what his dick looked like, fully engulfed by Mickey’s pink lips. He was enjoying the view right in front of him, moving his lips downward, tonguing each of Mickey’s balls, wrapping a hand around his cock as he alternated between finger and tongue in Mickey's tight hole, beginning the prep for what he was aching to give him. 

Ian jutted his hips upwards, doing his best to fuck into Mickey’s mouth and trying to keep his moans at a reasonable volume. He could only pray that Yev was sound asleep at this point. Maybe they needed to invest in a white noise machine.

“I’m gettin’ the lube, Gallagher,” Mickey declared, after swiping his tongue once more over the tip of Ian’s cock. “Want you in me. Where is it?”

Ian smirked and pointed to the nightstand drawer. “What happened to taking it slow?”

“Slow, fast. Whatever. I ain’t complainin’. Gonna prep myself some more while you suck me off.” A tingle ran down Ian’s spine at the prospect while he waited for Mickey to find the bottle of lube. 

“Used to get myself off like this in my cell. Had to do both jobs with my hands, of course, but I always pictured your mouth, and these lips wrapped around my dick.” He leaned over to kiss Ian, and Ian gripped the back of Mickey’s neck, drawing him closer and deepening their kiss.

Based on everything Mickey had said, all signs pointed to the possibility that he hadn’t been fucking anyone else while in prison—at least, not regularly. This is what Ian deduced, and he was going with it. Full throttle. 

Mickey got situated on the bed, and Ian moved to where he could capture Mickey’s dick in his mouth, swallowing him down, then pulling up to suck the precum from his slit. He also wanted a better view of Mickey working his lubed fingers into his hole. “Let me,” insisted Ian, but Mickey wanted his full concentration on his cock. 

“Get me close. Suck me good.”

Ian obliged, licking around the tip of Mickey’s cock before letting his lips and tongue slide down to the base and back up, over and over again, driven by an intense desire to push his boyfriend over the edge. 

Mickey was falling apart, three fingers deep and thighs thrusting back and then forward into Ian’s mouth. The air in the room was heavy with the smell of sex, everything just how Ian imagined it would be. His eyes met Mickey’s and he knew it was time. He gave Mickey’s cock one last lick from base to tip before grabbing the lube and coating himself. 

There was no asking about how they were going to do this. Mickey positioned himself on his back, pulling his fingers out and offering Ian a taste. He was between Mickey’s thighs now, rubbing the head of his cock around his hole, pushing in and out, no more than an inch to start, while sucking Mickey’s fingers into his mouth, both of them groaning. Mickey’s breath hitched, and Ian’s eyes flitted open. “You okay, baby?”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “More than okay. Been waiting for this. Keep going.”

Ian pushed deeper inside of Mickey, biting into his lip and watching Mickey’s eyes roll into the back of his head. “Oh, God! Oh, fuck! You’re so tight.” Mickey had a firm grip on Ian’s hips, urging him to keep going. As he bottomed out, he felt a warmth growing inside of him that extended to the tips of his fingers and toes. It was a feeling that could only be described as euphoric, and he knew that Mickey felt it too. 

He remembered how it was like this every time before, even when Ian was asking for it three or four times a day, back when he was manic and craving Mickey all day long, even when they’d been pressed for time or privacy—whatever the case, this was how they spoke to one another. How had they survived all this time without access to their greatest source of communication?

Ian began to thrust into Mickey, slowly, until he got the signal to go faster. He leaned forward, searching for Mickey’s lips, kissing into his mouth, tonguing at the same desperate pace he was fucking him. He was close, and he sensed that Mickey was too from the way he was scraping his nails against Ian’s back, muttering what sounded like Ian’s name once he angled himself to hit that sweet spot, and then reaching between them to grab ahold of his leaking cock. 

Ian could feel himself coming undone, a tremble that began in the pit of his stomach, becoming bursts of pleasure, tiny fireworks exploding inside him. “I love you, Mick. I love—”

His release came before he could stop it, filling Mickey, who was only seconds behind him, his cum coating both of their chests, warm and sticky, and everything felt right with the world. Finally. Everything.

Ian pressed his mouth against Mickey’s to catch his ragged breaths, to feel the after-effects of his lover’s release. He moved over to Mickey’s side, remembering that Mickey would sometimes get overheated after coming, and he waited to hear whatever wise quip Mickey had in store for him.

But he didn’t say a word. Mickey turned his head to make eye contact with Ian, just watching him, his eyes full of love, his fingers stroking his cheek before pulling him into his arms. Ian had zero desire to move from that spot, but then he remembered their door was locked, and Yev would likely come looking for them in the morning.

He explained this to Mickey, pulling himself up to unlock the door and grab a towel to clean them. He also retrieved the boxers they’d tossed aside earlier. Ian stood over Mickey and passed the towel over his flushed skin to gently wipe away the sweat and cum. 

He bent down to kiss the sensitive skin where Mickey’s thigh and pelvis came together. If you asked Ian in the moment, he would say that was his favorite part of Mickey, but he could say that about any one of his amazing parts. All that mattered now was that he had the whole package, every inch of the man he cherished, at his fingertips. He would do whatever he had to do to make him happy.

They fell asleep with Mickey tracing the letters of Ian’s tattoo, and before he drifted off to sleep, Mickey whispered, “We still got it, Firecrotch.”

^^^^^^^^^^

On Saturday morning, as Ian had predicted, Yev was the first to wake up and marched straight to their bedroom to ask Ian for some breakfast. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he realized there was someone else in bed with Ian, but started giggling when he remembered that his daddy was home for good. 

Yev seemed to know that he wasn’t the only one over the moon now that Mickey was back. There was an extra lightness about Ian now, and Yev gave him a warm smile as he took his hand and pulled him towards the kitchen.

Ian made pancakes, and let the smell of sizzling bacon lure Mickey to the table. They gobbled down breakfast, grabbed showers and took Yev to a different park where he could ride his bike. Mickey didn’t say anything more to Ian about the training wheels, especially after he saw how much Yev loved riding.

Lunch was cheeseburgers and milkshakes at a nearby diner and Mickey playing footsies under the table with Ian like they were in high school—not that they ever did play footsies when they were in high school. Still, it was nice. 

“You jackass,” Ian muttered on the walk home, stroking the palm of Mickey’s hand with the tip of his finger. He was feeling like a teenager in love and couldn’t get enough of Mickey. “How am I supposed to wait until tonight to fuck you?”

“Maybe the kid’ll take a nap,” Mickey smirked.

But that was wishful thinking. Yev wasn’t about to take a nap two days in a row. Instead, he FaceTimed with Svetlana for nearly half an hour, chatting happily about his daddy being home and asking her about what souvenirs she was bringing him. Ian did a load of laundry, and Mickey brought a few boxes up from storage to sort through. He discovered a few of his old sex toys but swiftly transferred them to a shoebox that he would keep on the highest shelf of their closet.

Later that night when they commenced with Round 2 of their reunion sex, neither Mickey nor Ian thought about using the toys. They were more than satisfied with their regular equipment for now.

By Sunday, Mickey decided he was ready to see a few familiar faces and suggested a brief visit with the Gallaghers and maybe a drink at the Alibi. Once Ian made the call to his family and confirmed, Mickey told Yev he was looking forward to the tour of “Aunt Fiona’s” house.

Ian had begged Fiona not to make a banner or buy balloons or cake, but she informed him that Debbie had made a celebratory banner weeks ago, and the kitchen was stocked with leftover pie from Patsy’s.

Thank fuck Ian had thought to tell her one time and then show up an hour early to the house. Everyone was scattered about and not standing in the living room like a bunch of idiots. Fiona had run out to the store, and the banner was only halfway taped to the wall. Yev made their presence known right away, calling out for Liam and quickly pointing out the upstairs and downstairs to Mickey. That was the extent of the tour from Yev, as he ran upstairs to round everyone up, excited to show Mickey off to the family.

Standing in the living room with Mickey for the first time in more than three years, Ian had a flashback to the last time they’d been in that very spot. Fuck, they were on top of the world, about to have their first real date. Ian was coming out of an awful haze, happy drunk from mixing beer with his meds and actually feeling alive. Mickey had refused to give up on him, and it finally felt like they had a shot of moving forward in their relationship. 

But hateful fucking Sammi was waiting for Ian to come home, and she had a sledgehammer of a surprise for them. That vengeful bitch had turned Ian in for impersonating Lip and going AWOL from the Army. He was carted away by a couple of soldiers who pulled guns on them, and all the progress they’d made was smashed into bits and pieces. 

Though Ian couldn’t entirely blame Sammi for everything that came next, he understood why Mickey wanted to hurt her. Killing her was never his intention, reasoned Ian, but even if it had been, he would have found a way to forgive Mickey after what she put them through.

Ian’s mom didn’t help the situation either, springing him from military confinement and pumping a bunch of shit into his head about needing to be with someone who loved him—crazy and all. And why he thought that person wasn’t or couldn’t be Mickey was anybody’s guess. 

Ian was so out of his mind that day Sammi came hunting Mickey, like the resurrected half-dead wife from _ Pet Cemetery _, it barely registered that she could have killed him. God, what a fucked up time. Thank fuck Ian had come to his senses and not left Mickey to rot in prison all alone.

Mickey must have noticed the color drain from Ian’s face. Hell, he probably knew why, gripping his hand and leading him into the kitchen. “It doesn’t matter now,” he whispered gently, sitting Ian down at the table and pressing his lips against his forehead. “Let me grab you some water.”

Ian tried to shake those horrific feelings away as fast as they’d come over him. Yev bounded into the kitchen as everyone gathered to say hello and give Mickey a high five (Liam), shake his hand (Carl), or offer him a hug and a piece of pie (Debbie). She introduced him to her baby, Frannie, then yelled at Carl for half-assing the hanging of the banner and texted Fiona to hurry home. Lip was en route from school, and Ian was starting to feel like himself again, knowing he was surrounded by people who cared about him and Mickey.

It worked out better for Mickey to see the younger Gallaghers first. Ian was certain that he was nervous about seeing Fiona and Lip. He’d gained their respect years ago when he’d been instrumental in getting Ian help with his bipolar disorder, but Mickey figured they didn’t like the idea of their little brother pining away for a convicted criminal and being tied down with raising his son. Ian told Mickey it was really none of their fucking business, but he’d also reassured Mickey that were much more accepting than he was giving them credit for. 

Fiona burst into the kitchen from the back porch, cheeks reddened from the slight chill in the air, balancing a couple of bottles of soda in her arms. She placed them on the counter and gave Mickey a big ass smile and a huge hug, then made some apology about not having beer in the house because Lip was on the wagon and plus, she wasn’t sure if Mickey was too. That made things awkward for a second until Mickey laughed and said he probably should be. They went outside for a smoke while Ian went upstairs to make sure Carl wasn’t showing Yev how to build a bomb or anything sinister like that. 

It was another thirty minutes until Lip arrived, backpack flung over his shoulders and his wide eyes, taking in the sight of Fiona, Mickey, and Ian sitting around the living room, passing a joint between them. “Don’t get up,” Lip insisted and went over to shake Mickey’s hand and take a hit. 

After putting Frannie down for a nap, Debbie came downstairs to join the adults and suggested they order pizza. But Ian and Mickey had agreed ahead of time that a small dose of the Gallagher crew was the right dose for now. 

“Thanks, guys, but we have a few more stops to make around the neighborhood, and then we gotta head home for Yev’s bath and all that Sunday night shit, ya know,” said Ian, smiling at Mickey knowingly, relieved that their visit was mostly uneventful.

After saying their good-byes, they decided to head back to the apartment. Mickey declared that one social outing was sufficient for now, though he did find it tolerable. He couldn’t get over how grown up the younger Gallaghers were, especially Debbie with her baby. Seeing everyone made Mickey nostalgic for his siblings—Iggy and Mandy anyway. 

Ian purposefully avoided driving anywhere near the house where Mickey grew up on the way back to their apartment. It was a site he had no intention of revisiting while Terry resided there, only if Mickey needed him to, but he secretly hoped Mickey would stay away from that toxic piece of shit.

Once back at the apartment, Mickey turned on the television for Yev and made sure Ian was no longer shaken. 

“I was thinking about calling Iggy and Mandy, but that can wait. You okay? Lots of memories today, huh?”

Ian nodded, smoothing his hair back. “Thanks for asking, Mick. I’m fine now. 

_ There’s more good memories than bad _, Ian thought to himself, giving Mickey a reassuring smile as he ushered him to the bedroom to make his calls.

While Mickey was on the phone, Ian cooked dinner—chicken and rice with broccoli. Over their meal, Mickey updated Ian on how Iggy was doing—_ fine, up to his usual stuff, has a girlfriend, maybe we’ll hang out soon _ —and Mandy— _ she’s hoping to visit soon, still doing her thing, could move back to the area one day _. 

Yev interjected a question, wondering where Mickey’s father lived—he already knew that Mrs. Milkovich was in heaven. The topic seemed to be on his mind because of an event coming up at the daycare for Grandparents Day. Questions like that were always hard to tackle, but Mickey was quick with an explanation. “You know, Yev, everyone has grandparents, but they’re not always nearby. I barely ever saw mine. I think that’s why you have so many aunts and uncles to look after you. Everyone’s family is a little different.” He said it so matter-of-factly that Yev didn’t persist with his usual follow-up questions. He’d probably want to revisit the topic in a few days. Sadly, Frank was probably the only option they had. _ Maybe it would be better to tell Yev that all of his grandparents are dead _, Ian wondered.

They finished dinner, and Ian cleaned the dishes while Mickey gave Yev a bath and got him ready for bed. It was quaint how they’d fallen into this routine so quickly. Ian had to give Mickey credit; he’d officially made it through Day 3 of the “domestic bliss challenge,” as they were calling it. 

And after Yev settled down for the night, they celebrated with a bottle of wine, followed by Round 3 of fucking each other’s brains out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to whaticameherefor and azuresky18 for everything! This fandom is the bestest.


	4. Chapter 4

On Monday, Ian let Mickey sleep in. By the time Yev plodded into the bedroom, the redhead was already awake and showered. He watched Yev studying a dead-to-the-world Mickey, clearly amused by the symphony of snores coming from his half open mouth.

Yev was quiet during the drive to the daycare. Ian glanced at him in the rearview mirror and noticed his shiny blue eyes peering out the window, not focused on anything in particular. He wondered what was going through his mind, maybe he was missing Svetlana and trying to sort out all the changes in his world. Or maybe he was mulling over his usual dilemma—which pup from _ Paw Patrol _was his favorite. 

In any case, it was obvious that in a few short days, Mickey had captivated the little boy’s heart. As soon as they stepped into Yev’s classroom, he ran over to his teacher and gushed about his daddy being home and all of the fun they’d been having. A few weeks back, Ian had spoken with Yev’s primary teacher, Mrs. Simpson, about Mickey’s return so she was already anticipating this news. Ian had always found her to be supportive of their unique family situation. 

She’d been Yev’s teacher the year before last, and one afternoon, had committed the_ faux pa_s of asking Ian about his _ wife_, aka Svetlana, who did drop-offs when he had early shifts. It must have been a day that Ian was particularly stressed about being apart from Mickey, and the complexity of their situation hit him all at once. 

Here he was, living with his boyfriend’s ex-wife and helping raise their son—a child who was the product of a rape and one of the reasons his boyfriend had broken up with him in the first place—which had led to him joining the Army, where his bipolar disease began to manifest, leading to a series of events that ended with Mickey in prison. And yes, Yev was one of the greatest joys in his life, and Svetlana was part of that, too, but to mistake her for his _ wife?_

He’d laughed so hard he cried, which then turned into actual tears of despair. He’d been doing such a stellar job of being stoic and keeping all of his feelings tucked away, but in that moment, he’d lost it. Poor Mrs. Simpson. She distracted Yev with some markers and a coloring book while she gave Ian a juice box and patted his back soothingly until he composed himself.

Ian ended up talking with her about his relationship and history with Mickey, sensing that she was comfortable with same sex relationships and had probably seen and heard it all before, given that she was in her late fifties, he was guessing. Ian also revealed where Mickey was “working” and that he was expected to be there until Yev was close to middle-school age. 

Mrs. Simpson was a good listener and clearly very skilled at her job, given her ability to calm toddlers and adults alike. And she turned out to be trust-worthy, not sharing the information Ian divulged without his permission to Yev’s teacher when he moved into the three year old classroom.

It was a godsend for Yev to have her as a teacher again. She was extra nurturing and kind to him, and overly excited in the most sincere way about his news that morning. After Yev gave Ian a goodbye hug, Mrs. Simpson led him over to the carpeted area of the classroom to hear more about his father’s homecoming.

Ian picked up some bagels and hurried back to the apartment, wanting to make the most of his time with Mickey since he had to go back to work the following day. He quietly unlocked the door to the apartment and tiptoed into the kitchen to put the bagels on the counter. His plan was to wake Mickey up with a morning blowjob and then bring him breakfast in bed. He crept over to the bedroom door and peeked inside, surprised to see Mickey showered, dressed, and combing his hair.

“Where ya going, hot stuff?” Ian stood in the doorway, eyeing Mickey from head to toe, like a tiger marking his prey. Mickey had to know exactly what was on his mind.

“I gotta start looking for a job and shit. Can’t have your ass supportin’ me forever.” He was dressed in jeans and a black button down shirt that was very familiar to Ian and had held up well over the years. 

“That’s so romantic, Mick.” Ian pressed his lips together and hummed, palming the front of his jeans, not being subtle at all about what he wanted. 

Mickey shrugged and plopped down on the bed, his arms folded behind his neck. “What can I say, guess you really got lucky with—”

Before he could finish his sentence, Ian was on top of him, grinding into Mickey’s lap as his hands went instinctively to the back of his neck, pushing his arms out of the way and drawing him forward to feather his lips across Mickey’s neck. 

This was the start of Round 4, and they weren’t showing any signs of slowing down. It would likely be an all-day marathon. The only thing they needed to accomplish was picking Yev up in the afternoon and making sure Mickey knew how to get to the daycare for drop-off and pick-up. Otherwise, the day belonged to them, and while Ian didn’t want to deter Mickey from starting his job search, he also got the impression that his boyfriend would be okay waiting one more day.

What he hadn’t expected was the heart-to-heart they had later that afternoon. They were laying in bed, stark naked and passing a cigarette back and forth—Mickey swore it was his last—when Mickey brought up the subject of Terry. Ian nearly choked on the smoke he’d just inhaled, feeling a wave of nausea pass over him.

“You really haven’t seen that fucker Terry since that night at the Alibi?” he asked Ian.

Ian sighed, wondering where this was going but willing to answer. “Um, not on purpose. Maybe from a distance.”

“He ever try to come around and see Yev? Maybe through Lana?”

“Fuck, not that I know of. I know she had some sort of weird-ass soft spot for Terry, but I think she got over that. Why?”

“Dunno. Just thinking about what Yev said the other day, asking about his grandparents.”

“Mick, you’re not—”

“Fuck no. Was just thinking, is all. Kinda sucks for him not to have anyone like that.”

“C’mon, Mick. Having no one is better than having that piece of shit.” Ian hoped Mickey agreed with him. They had to be on the same page about staying the fuck away from Terry. Maybe there was more on Mickey’s mind regarding his piece of shit father, some sort of need for closure. Ian figured it was selfish on his part, but he didn’t want to take any chances with any more Terry-induced trauma in their lives, not with this new chance they’d been given.

“Yeah, I know.” Mickey concurred. “Forget I said anything.”

They dozed off for another hour but woke up to Ian’s alarm and got ready to pick up Yev. Mickey drove them to the daycare, slightly nervous about the whole experience, fearful that somehow all the teachers and parents would know he was an ex-convict and bodily shield their precious angels as he walked by. No amount of reassurance from Ian could tame Mickey’s concerns that all the “soccer moms” would judge him and tell their kids to stay away from Yev.

“It’s not like that, Mick. I’ve told you a million times, the daycare is in a church, and nearly all the parents work full time. They don’t have time to get into each other’s business. We’ve had a few play dates here and there, and I just told people that you were away.”

“Away? Ha! I can’t wait to tell ‘em where I’ve been.”

“Go ahead.” Ian shrugged his shoulders. “You served your time. People can think what they want.”

After parking, checking in at the front desk, and leading them towards Yev’s classroom, Ian noticed how Mickey’s posture had changed. His shoulders were hunched inward slightly, his hand with the F-U-C-K tattoo was hidden in his side pocket, and he walked close to the walls. Ian had never considered the institutionalized feel of the place with its cement walls and fluorescent lights, mostly because there were colorful drawings posted every few feet. He was tempted to offer Mickey his hand, but he knew that when Mickey had his guard up, it was better to let him work it out. Besides, they were about to arrive at the classroom.

Yev was always excited to see whomever had come for pick-up, but Ian had never seen his face light up the way it did when Mickey walked into the room.

“Daddy!” He exclaimed. The other children stopped what they were doing and watched curiously as Yev sprinted over to the doorway to drag Mickey inside, showing him where he took his nap, then his cubby where he kept his backpack, and finally, his usual spot on the carpet for storytime. 

Mickey wasn’t exactly in his element, but he managed a smile when the dozen or so kids began crowding around him and Yev, asking his name and why he’d never been to the daycare before. Mrs. Simpson hurried over to rescue him, sending the children back to their activities and leading Mickey over to her desk while Ian chatted with Yev about his day. He was keeping an eye on Mickey though, making sure he wasn’t too uncomfortable. 

“You must be Mr. Milkovich.” Mrs. Simpson held out a hand to greet him.

He accepted it. “Yeah. That’s me. And you’re Yev’s teacher...”

“I am. The children call me ‘Mrs. Simpson’.”

“Oh, right. Uh, thank you for being so kind to Yev. You know, with all this...stuff, going on.”

“Certainly,” she smiled back at him, letting Mickey know he had her support. “I’m sure you know this already, but Yev is an amazing little boy.”

Mickey was nodding in agreement when Ian came over to join the conversation.

“I see you’ve met Mickey,” he interjected. 

“Yes, and I want to show you both something.” Mrs. Simpson searched through some piles of paper on her desk and pulled out a folder. She opened it to reveal a crayon drawing and handed it over to Mickey, who stared down at the picture for nearly a minute before speaking. 

“Huh...I guess the kid can draw…” Mickey passed the pictures over to Ian. Most four year olds had trouble drawing a complete figure, but Yev had managed to draw three—a man with dark hair dressed in orange, a taller man with orange hair, and a little boy with blond spikes sitting in between them, holding what appeared to be a book. 

“I asked the students to draw a picture of one of their favorite memories. At this age, I get a lot of scribbles, or more abstract work, shall I say. I was impressed with Yev’s talent, and I figured the two of you might have some context for the picture.”

Ian glanced at Mickey, picking up on the fact that he was processing several emotions at once, and answered for both of them. “Yes, we do. Thanks for sharing this with us.”

“Of course, and I’ll see you tomorrow? Is that right, Mr. Milkovich? For drop-off?”

Mickey cleared his throat as Yev ran up to him, backpack in hand, and leaned down to pick him up. “That’s right. It’ll be me and you tomorrow, Yev. You’ll have to make sure I get you to the right place. Okay?”

“I sure will,” Yev beamed.

^^^^^^^^^^

The next day, Mickey started to take charge of getting Yev where he needed to be. For the first few mornings of drop-off, Debbie came over with Frannie to keep Mickey company. He didn’t seem to mind, even enjoyed her being there, because Debbie was known for prattling on about herself and her own troubles, which was a nice distraction if you needed one. 

Then there was soccer practice and swimming lessons and the occasional playdate, which Mickey hated with the passion of a thousand suns. He refused to do any playdates without Ian and usually engaged with the children more than the adults. 

The days turned into weeks, and they’d settled into a routine—work for Ian, job hunting for Mickey, mind-blowing sex, domestic duties, caring for Yev, and spending time as a family. Svetlana was due back soon, calling every other day to speak to Yev, and she and Mickey had a few conversations. They were polite, civil even—well, as civil as those two could be to each other. He told her he’d like to meet her new husband, and she agreed to have everyone over once they got back to town. 

They’d had dinner a few times with the Gallaghers, plus Kevin and V and their twin girls. Carl never failed to ask multiple inappropriate questions about Mickey’s time in prison, including an inquiry about the number of guys he’d banged. Another time, he asked Mickey for advice on how to make his Halloween costume—an inmate—more authentic. He’d done his stint in juvie, but was apparently going for an older, more mature inmate look. Mickey told him to fuck off and go find out for himself if he wanted to know so bad.

After about two months, the newness of Mickey being out of prison, a free man who was supposed to conquer the world and reclaim his sense of purpose, seemed to have worn off. Ian knew all along that Mickey had unrealistic expectations, thinking he’d have a job by now, his money from Iggy nearly gone. So far, he’d only managed to find work at the Alibi, helping Kevin and V at the bar a few hours a day after he dropped Yev at daycare, which was fine at first, but he was getting tired of the regulars ribbing his ass about being a “kept man” and a “house husband”.

Gradually, Mickey became more irritable, especially towards the end of the day, sleeping in the evenings, waking up to read Yev a bedtime story, then staying up way too late watching television or playing games on the computer. He’d rally in the mornings, making sure Yev was ready for school, extra doting, sincere in his efforts not to disappoint the little boy.

And the same was true when he and Ian were intimate—Mickey seemed more like his old self. So much so, that Ian came home early from work one day, feigning a stomach virus, just so he could spend time with Mickey, doing what had always been a way for them to forget about any problems or worries, to re-connect. Mickey’s self-confidence in the bedroom was always high, and Ian hoped that would extend to other aspects of his life, still knowing they would need a longer-term solution to keep Mickey from pursuing less-than-savory ways to make a living. 

He found the brunet asleep up on the couch, remote in one hand, and three empty bottles of beer scattered on the carpet nearby. Ian had been keeping an eye on how much Mickey was drinking, but since it didn’t seem out of control, he didn’t push on it for the moment.

“Mick,” he whispered, hovering over his boyfriend. “Baby…”

Big mistake. Mickey awoke with a jolt and had Ian in a headlock before he realized where he was and what was happening.

“M-mick. It’s me…” stammered Ian. He could have easily gotten out of the hold but thought he’d give Mickey a chance to release him first, which he did right away.

“The fuck, Ian?! Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. Just missed you,” Ian rubbed his neck, chuckling at the absurdity of the moment, and plopped down next to Mickey. His foot made contact with the empty bottles, and they clanged together. Mickey leaned over to pick them up, but Ian took ahold of his hand. 

“Leave it,” Ian said with force in his voice and a menacing grin. “Told Sue I wasn’t feeling well, thought we could get in some quality time before we pick up Yev.”

“Okay.” Mickey pulled his hand away from Ian and rubbed the stubble on his chin before rising up abruptly. “Don’t think you should be making up shit to leave work. You could get fired.”

Mickey silently gathered up the empty beer bottles and headed to the kitchen, ignoring the stunned expression on Ian’s face, which faded into disappointment and then anger. Ian was on the verge of saying something shitty but held his tongue and took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do them any good to argue right now. _ Or would it, _wondered Ian. Maybe Mickey had a few things to get off his chest, maybe Ian needed to poke the bear.

But he wouldn’t have to. Mickey returned a minute later, sighing as he sat down next to Ian and rested his head against Ian’s shoulder. “Sorry, man. Guess I’m feeling kinda down.”

Ian’s first instinct was to put his arms around Mickey, but he resisted. Mickey wasn’t a child who needed consoling, he just needed Ian to listen. “Yeah. I know.” He waited, letting the silence settle in so that Mickey would continue unprompted.

“It’s like I’m in some kind of purgatory. I know I didn’t belong where I was, but I don’t know if I belong here. Not _ here_, I mean, fuck. I know this is where I’m supposed to be. This is the life I want, but I’m not doing what I’m supposed to...for you guys.”

Ian rested a hand cautiously on Mickey’s knee. He didn’t flinch or shake it away, so Ian kept it there. He knew that verbal reassurances, no matter how sincere, wouldn’t help Mickey in this moment. 

“I keep thinking I need to try harder. Been going around to a couple of shops to pick up mechanic work. They all want either references or experience or both.”

Ian nodded, acknowledging that feeling of not being wanted. He’d experienced it before, failing miserably as a busboy at Fiona’s diner and then as a janitor at Lip’s school. Different circumstances, but he knew a little something about the humiliation of not living up to one’s potential.

“I love you, Mick. We love you. You need to give yourself fuckin’ break. It’s not like coming out of juvie and everything falling back into place. This shit is hard for most adults on any given day. You’ve been through a lot.”

Ian noticed a flicker of relief pass over Mickey’s face, like he wanted to believe Ian, but then he couldn’t. 

“That kid. I mean, fuck, I love him, but he deserves better than my broken-down ass. Look at me! I’m a goddamn housewife and failing at that.” He waved his hand towards the kitchen. There were several days of dirty dishes piled around the sink. They’d both been too tired lately to keep up with the cleaning. 

“Yev thinks the world of you,” Ian said quietly.

“Yeah, cuz you built me up to be this great guy who was away on a job. What’s he gonna think when he finds out the truth?”

“Mick…”

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but…” Mickey paused, wincing in anticipation of the blow he was about to deliver, “...you’re suffocating me.”

Ian wasn’t shocked by this, even figured it was coming eventually. He’d been overbearing to a fault, but he’d been trying to hold back. “Kinda hard not to take it any other way…”

Mickey sighed. “Yeah, well...I just need...I don’t know. I need some air, okay? I need a few hours to myself where you’re not looking at me with your stupid puppy dog eyes, like all hopeful and shit...”

Ian was trying hard not to take his boyfriend’s hurtful comments to heart, knowing that Mickey was putting a lot of pressure on himself and needed to release his frustrations. He could try to fight him on this, nag him about how he needed to be patient, that something would work out. Or how he could go back to school. Mickey had been motivated enough to get his GED while he was locked up, and he was way more fucking capable than he gave himself credit for. It had been hard watching Mickey struggle and not try to do something for him, but deep down, he knew that the harder he pushed, the more likely Mickey was to resist. 

“Fine, Mick. Just go. Get some air. Do what you have to do.” Ian stared back into Mickey’s blue eyes and then added reassuringly. “I’ll be here.”

Mickey was quiet for a minute, probably surprised that Ian didn’t fight back or try to guilt him or break down. “Yeah?” he responded. 

“Yeah.”

^^^^^^^^^^

But a few hours turned into several hours. Ian had picked Yev up from daycare, cleaned up the kitchen, and made dinner for the three of them. Around 7pm, he started texting Mickey with no response. He thought about strapping Yev into his car seat and driving around the neighborhood to look for Mickey. Instead, he got Yev ready for bed and explained Mickey’s absence by saying he’d gone out to see a friend and would be back in the morning. Yev was very unsettled by the fact that his father wasn’t there, but eventually, Ian convinced him not to worry. After Yev fell asleep, he called his brother Lip for advice. 

“Should I start calling bars? Or hospitals?” Ian wondered out loud. “Or I could try his brother...”

“C’mon, man. Give the guy some breathing room. You’ve had him on domestic duty every since he got out of the can.”

“What the fuck does that mean?” Lip had hit a nerve, seeing as how it was in the back of Ian’s mind that he’d pushed for this family life too hard and it wasn’t actually what Mickey wanted. 

“Calm the fuck down,” said Lip sternly. “What I’m saying is, let the guy blow off some steam. Maybe he went to get wasted or hang out with some of his old pals. He doesn’t need you mothering him 24/7.”

“Yeah, I’m aware of that, but I’m not mothering him. He said ‘a few hours’, but it’s been longer than that.”

“Give it until tomorrow, Ian. Mickey’s not gonna do anything stupid. He loves you guys. I can tell. We all can.”

“Really?”

“Fuck, yeah. It almost makes me wanna find a wife and start popping out babies,” Lip chuckled.

“Thanks, man. You’ve been there for all of our shit. I want to make this works, I always have. I need it. I need them.”

“Hang in there, bro. And text me tomorrow if we need to form a search party.”

For the rest of the night, Ian tried to distract himself with mindless crap on Netflix, checking his phone every 5 minutes, tempted to call Mandy and get her take on the situation, but he didn’t want to worry her needlessly. Around 10pm, his phone dinged, and he his heart leaped to his throat. It wasn’t Mickey though, it was a text from Sue, asking if he was on the mend and if he’d be in the next day. Ian responded that he’d likely still need another day off, must have been something he ate.

Sometime after midnight, Ian dozed off on the couch. He was in and out of sleep all night, at one point dreaming that Mickey had texted to say he wasn’t ever coming home, that he’d met somebody else. He knew it was only his imagination, but Ian woke himself up to confirm, just in case—still no texts from Mickey by 4am. 

He fell back asleep and dreamed that they’d gone on a cruise together—which was random as fuck since Mickey swore up and down he’d never set foot on one of those things. They’d just stuffed themselves at the all-you-can-eat seafood buffet when Mickey suddenly disappeared. Ian could hear Yev crying in the distance, calling for his father, and when Ian finally found the little boy on the side deck, his face reddened and tear stained, he was pointing over the balcony into the water. “Daddy fell! He can’t swim!”

Ian was gripped with fear, almost paralyzed and unable to react. He was trying to scream for help when someone came to his side and pulled on his arm. “Wake up! Wake up, Ian! I’m scared!”

When Ian opened his eyes, the morning light hit them harshly. When his eyes adjusted, he found an alarmed and disheveled Yev standing beside him, his small hand pushing into Ian’s arm. “What happened, Ian? Where’s Daddy?”

“Hey, Yev. I must have been dreaming. Was I talking in my sleep?”

“Yeah,” his voice trembled slightly. “You said, ‘Mickey! Mickey! Help us!’ And Mickey is my daddy’s name. Is he okay?”

“Of course, buddy.” Ian lifted his frame against the back of the sofa and pulled Yev into his arms. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I was having a nightmare.”

“But where is he?”

Ian gulped and felt around for his phone, almost afraid to look at it. He wasn't sure which would be worse—no text from Mickey, or a message from his PO saying he’d fucked up and was back in prison. At least then he’d know Mickey was safe.

“Let me check my phone.” Either way, Ian would have to lie to Yev.

He looked down at his phone and sighed with relief that there were two texts from Mickey. 

_ Got delayed. Spent the night at Terry’s. Be back after I sleep it off. _

_ Oh, fuck, _ thought Ian, his heart gripped with fear. But then, as if Mickey could anticipate this reaction…

_ Don’t worry. Tell Yev I miss him. Love you._


	5. Chapter 5

Did Mickey really think his “don’t worry” text was sufficient? That Ian wouldn’t be climbing the walls at the very idea he’d stepped within 100 feet of that lousy excuse for a human being, Terry? 

Any relief that Ian felt after hearing from Mickey had vanished about a minute after he fully processed the situation. He texted his boyfriend back immediately.

_Taking Yev to daycare. Coming to get you after. Hit me back ASAP. _

Ian thought about calling Debs to watch Yev while he went straight over to find Mickey and bring him home, but he didn’t want to alarm the kiddo any more by upsetting his routine, and he definitely wasn’t going to take Yev anywhere near Terry Milkovich.

Instead, he got them both ready in lightning speed and explained to Yev that Mickey had been running errands and decided to have a sleepover with a friend—he figured that made the most sense, as Yev had stayed over at the Gallagher house with Liam a few times. Ian promised they’d pick him up early from daycare and go for ice cream, and thankfully, the tow-haired tyke seemed satisfied enough and had skipped into his classroom without incident.

As soon as he got back in the car, Ian checked his phone. Mickey hadn’t returned his text, so he dialed Mickey’s number. No answer on the first try. _ Fuck. _He really didn’t want to have to go to the Milkovich house, but he would on the off-chance (or the very real chance) that everything was not okay. 

Slowing to a stop at a red light, he felt his phone buzzing and saw Mickey’s name on the screen. He answered right away.

“Mick? Thank God! You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m fine,” answered Mickey in a muffled tone. It sounded like he was outside.

Ian’s heart pounded in his chest. Was he really fine? Better to save yelling at his lughead boyfriend for when he knew he was actually okay. “Headed your way. Be there soon.”

“Don’t do that!” Mickey protested. “Already on my way back to the apartment.”

“Mickey! I swear to God, if you’re not back by the time I get there…” _ Fuck being patient and understanding. If Terry had gotten in Mickey’s head in any way, shape or form... _

“Relax, Gallagher. I know I fucked up. I know I made you worry, but it’s over now.” It was hard to tell with all of the background noise, but Mickey’s tone seemed genuine. “Terry is gonna stay the fuck outta our lives. For good.” He sounded so relieved. He sounded free.

“O-okay, Mick. It just makes me sick, thinking about him, thinking he might have some kind of hold on you.” Ian felt a lump forming in his throat. He wanted to stay on the phone and not let Mickey out of his grasp, but he didn’t want to start bawling either.

Mickey must have sensed the trembling in the redhead’s voice. “Get home, and then we’ll talk. Okay?”

“Okay. Love you.” Ian murmured softly.

“Love you too, Ian.”

After Mickey hung up, Ian exhaled and took a deep breath to clear his mind, trying to avoid any triggering memories. But fuck if one didn’t creep into his mind. The day he’d gone to search for Mickey after _ it _ happened—the rape. He’d found Mickey in the abandoned building that they’d claimed as their own quiet refuge, shooting at invisible targets. His reaction to seeing Ian was devoid of any warmth, and the redhead cringed at the sight of his deep purple bruises, ugly reminders of the pistol whip and punches Terry had thrown. There was nothing but loathing and rage behind his clear blue eyes. 

Ian could feel Mickey slipping away, not realizing that the worst was yet to come—denial in the form of a violent beating at the hands of the boy he loved and the ultimate rejection the day of his wedding to Svetlana. 

After Ian returned home from his failed stint in the army, he discovered that Mickey had somehow managed to co-exist with both of his rapists—the sadistic mastermind and the person he’d used to carry out the deed, though it helped that Terry was in the slammer for a good bit of that time. 

To this day, it filled Ian with terror remembering how he’d been at the Alibi after Yev’s christening to witness Terry hold the tiny, defenseless baby between his thick, weathered hands and give Mickey one of the only looks of approval he’d probably ever given him his entire life. _ Look what we made, son. _ Sick fucker.

Right or wrong, Ian had forced Mickey’s hand that day to come out in front of Terry, which had provided both of them the opportunity to retaliate against the piece of shit, Ian landing a few kicks and punches before having a chair thrown at his back. But it was the release he’d been waiting for, to put that bastard in his place for hurting Mickey, and Mandy, too.

And if he found out that Terry had harmed Mickey in any way, Ian didn’t know what he would do. He knew what he’d want to do, but was unsure if he could actually follow through with it. 

_ He’s okay, though. Mickey’s okay. We’re okay. _

Ian found a parking spot right across from their complex, got out of the car, and dashed across the street, not even remembering to look both ways, his eyes searching the sidewalks for Mickey and the entrance to their building. _ Could he be in the apartment already? _

Once inside, Ian didn’t bother waiting for the elevator, climbing the stairs, two by two, out of breath by the time he reached their floor, not from exertion but the anxiousness that was gnawing at his insides. They’d come too far for any more stupid antics, and he was going to tell Mickey as much. Maybe he’d have to compromise and back the fuck off of his boyfriend and not smother him so much, but he wasn’t going to lose him ever again, certainly not to the fucked-up patriarch of the Milkovich family.

Ian paused mid-thought, his heart nearly stopping. He blinked to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. There stood Mickey outside the door of their apartment, fumbling to get the key in the lock, cursing at it, but then slowly becoming aware of the eyes that were upon him. He barely had a chance to turn to Ian before the redhead had him pinned against the door, hands cupping his face, green eyes combing every inch of him, making sure that no damage had been done. 

Seeing none, Ian began kissing his face, his neck, then lifting up his hands and kissing each knuckle, followed by the palms of his hands. Once he started, he couldn’t stop touching the man he loved with all his heart, tears streaming down his face. Mickey was on the verge of tears, too, gripping Ian’s shoulders firmly, telling him how sorry he was, but that he didn’t need to worry anymore. Ian felt strong, insistent, calming lips against his.

Mickey’s words from earlier clouded his thoughts. _ Terry is gonna stay the fuck outta our lives. For good. _ Ian was suddenly filled with fear all over again and pulled away from Mickey, words tumbling from his lips, “Did you kill him, Mick? Do you need help with the body?”

The brunet threw his head back and laughed as loud as Ian had heard him in weeks. He couldn’t seem to stop, handing Ian the keys and nodding towards the lock. “O-open. C’mon.”

Ian’s hands were shaking as he got the door unlocked and pushed inside. Mickey followed and backed him into the closed door, pressing his body into Ian’s and nipping at his neck. He’d stopped laughing at this point and was working his mouth over to right below Ian’s ear. “No,” he whispered. “I didn’t kill Terry. But it’s sexy as fuck that you offered to help me with the body. Jesus, Gallagher, that’s hot.”

Mickey didn’t seem like he was kidding, but Ian punched his arm all the same, causing the brunet to take a step back. 

“Jesus, Gallagher!”

“I was really worried about you!” Ian shouted, his relief turning into something different. He wasn’t exactly angry, just not in the mood for games. “This isn’t fucking funny.”

“Yeah, I know, I know.” Mickey shucked his coat off and extended his hand to Ian to take his, walking over to the coat rack and hanging them up. “But at least you’re not crying anymore.”

“Gee, thanks. Asshole.” 

Seeing a touch of remorse flash across Mickey's face, Ian softened his tone. “Made some coffee earlier. Gonna pour you a cup. You look like hell.” In the light of their apartment, Mickey did look tired but thankfully unharmed. 

Ian was hesitant about leaving him alone, his guard up now, and his mind wrestling with an irrational fear that Mickey would take off again. _ No, that’s what you used to do—run away when things got tough. Stop. Just stop. He’s home. He’s okay. We’re okay. _

Mickey ended up following him into the kitchen, wrapping his arms around the redhead’s waist, and nestling his chin against his shoulder while he poured the coffee. “I'm sorry, ya know? Real fuckin’ sorry. Just needed to take care of some things. How’s Yev? Was he worried?” 

“A little bit. He’s okay, though.” Ian turned his head so that their lips met briefly. He pushed his forehead against Mickey’s and spoke softly. “You actually saw that fucker? Tell me everything.” He handed Mickey the cup of coffee, took his free hand, and guided him over to the couch where they sat down together. Ian kissed his boyfriend’s temple and pulled him closer. 

“It’s kind of a long story. Ended up being a long night. I was gonna come right back home, I swear. Just wanted to see my old pal from Cell Block B. I told you about him—Eddie Morales. Needed to talk to someone who’d understand what I’ve been going through.”

“Yeah. Of course...” Ian tapped Mickey’s arm for his cup of coffee, took a sip, and then handed the cup back to him. 

“He hadn’t been answering my texts, so I took the L over to the address he gave me. Let’s just say, his place wasn’t as nice as this.” Mickey leaned his neck back, seeking his boyfriend’s lips and finding them before continuing. “He wasn’t there, just his old lady. I could barely convince her to open the door, but she finally did. Invited me in for coffee once she figured out I was a friend of Eddie’s.”

“Is he okay?”

“Mostly. Got locked up again for violating parole. Didn’t even get to see his daughter get married, like he was supposed to. Fuckin’ dumbass.”

“Poor fucker. Is he the one you’d eat lunch with sometimes and talk baseball?”

“Yeah, and when he found out his parole came through, he was so sure he was gonna do alright. He’d been in for ten years. Ten fuckin’ years. Used to steal cars. When he got out, couldn’t find a decent job, fell in with some hot-heads and got busted for holding up a convenience store. Same old shit that you read about all the time. Wasted fuckin’ lives.”

“I’m sorry, Mick.”

“Yeah, me too. But at least I know where to find him.” Mickey laughed but then groaned. “Shit, that wasn’t funny. But no, I do want to go see him.”

“I think you should.”

“His wife gave me this before I left.” Mickey reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a folded blade. He held it up for Ian to inspect, probably waiting for a lecture about no weapons in the house, but Ian wasn’t going to give him one. He’d already won the battle about no guns in their apartment for Yev’s safety. 

“Look. There’s something in Spanish carved into the handle. _ Solo vives dos veces_. You only live twice, is what his wife told me. And that got me thinking…”

Ian knew where this was going and waited patiently for the brunet to continue. 

“Look, I didn’t give two shits about seeing Terry, I just wanted to get my old bike from the house and a few other things Iggy didn’t send over.”

“Yeah, but we coulda staked the place, waited until your shithead father was out at a bar.”

“For all I knew, he was gonna be,” Mickey insisted.

“So, what...you walked right up to the door and knocked?”

“Fuck, yeah. I can read Terry the second I get a whiff of him. Heard him stumbling around on the other side of the door. Dude’s lonely as fuck, I’m sure. None of us are around. Sometimes I think that’s the only reason he agreed to keep having kids with my mom, hoping that at least one of us would take care of his sorry ass when he was too old to do it for himself. Won’t be me, though.”

“What if he’d shot you, Mickey? Fuck, I just can’t believe you’d—”

Mickey pulled away from him, shifting to the edge of the couch. “Look. I know it doesn’t make sense, Ian, but I had to. And yeah, it’s stupid, but I had that knife on me, and I wasn’t afraid to use it, and I really wanted my shit.” 

“Okay. Go on.” Ian put his hand on Mickey’s shoulder to try to coax him back. It worked.

“He wasn’t happy to see me, to put it mildly, called me a ‘fuckin’ fag’ and tried to slam the door in my face. Guess I coulda left right then and there, but I pushed my way inside. Knew he was gonna take a swing though, so I was ready for him.”

“Looks like the fucker missed.”

Mickey let out a half chuckle. “Yeah, he’s not as quick as he used to be, but you’ve seen how he gets when he’s ragin’. He woulda put me through the damn window, ‘cept I held up a peace offering—a bottle of Jack Daniels, not that cheap knock-off stuff. Told him I could break it over his fuckin’ head, or we could drink it. He picked the latter. Figured I’d let him get real drunk, pass out, and I’d grab my shit and be home before Yev was awake.”

“But…”

“But...I started drinking too, and Terry got all weepy like a fuckin’ baby, talking ‘bout my mom and how she deserved better, and I was like, ‘No shit, Sherlock’. I’d never seen him like that, didn’t even know the fucker was capable of having feelings. Then I started thinking about how awful he was to her and how I’d never want to be in a situation like that, and fuck, I started crying like a fuckin’ moron myself, missing you and Yev and knowing how good I have it and how stupid it would be for me to fuck things up…”

Ian was hanging onto every word, his heart hurting for Mickey, as he tried to imagine being that close to Terry and refraining from kicking his teeth out. He squeezed Mickey’s arm. “You were really fucking kind to listen to that prick. He doesn’t deserve you. Never did.”

Mickey didn’t reply. He seemed determined to finish explaining what had happened. “Anyway, I kept waiting for that asshole to say some more shit to me—about us and our ‘faggot’ ways. He’s probably heard we’re back together. I dunno, maybe Iggy kept his damn mouth shut, but you know how word gets around. I think I mighta kicked his ass if he’d said anything about you.”

“He really didn’t?”

“Guess he was too damn drunk and emotional. Fuck, for all I know, he confused me with one of my older brothers. Then he passed out. And I passed out, woke up a few times, snuck into my old room and got my shit. I knew you’d be worried, knew I needed to get back here. Must have texted you before I fell asleep for a few hours in my old bed. Saw your message, got my bike, and came home.”

“Thank fuck! I was gonna lose my fucking mind if anything had happened to you, was about to start calling hospitals!” Ian stopped himself from laying on the guilt, remembering not to give Mickey too much shit. “What was Terry doing when you left?”

“Sleeping on the floor, curled up with the empty bottle of Jack.”

“Huh. So why’d you say he’s gonna leave us alone from now on?” Ian paused before declaring, “You did kill the fucker!”

“No, no. I didn’t! And I can’t be sure he’ll remember, cuz he was three sheets to the wind—it was right before he passed out. But I’m pretty sure, from that look in his eye, when I had the knife to his throat and told him I’d kill him with my bare hands if he ever touched you or Yev or anyone I love, that he got the message. He bawled like a bitch, until he passed out. I sat there and watched him. Sad fuck.”

“Mick, doesn’t mean he won’t try something. There’s only one sure way to—”

“I said to him, ‘Terry, what you did to us kids, especially me and Mandy, knowing that mom was watching over us, you oughta burn in hell for.’ I told him, ‘This shit is gonna stop here and now.’”

Ian could feel Mickey trembling, it was slight, but he knew his boyfriend well enough to realize when he was truly shaken, that it must have taken every bit of strength in him not to end Terry right then and there. 

He was lucky that Terry hadn’t tried to kill him. He’d been stupid and brave as fuck, and there was something that must have shifted for him, some burden that had been weighing on him that was lifted. Mickey seemed lighter now.

“Do you have to get to work? Probably made you late, which sucks since I gave you shit yesterday,” said the brunet, abruptly changing the subject, and Ian knew he was done talking about what had happened for now.

They could revisit the topic of Terry another day, and maybe not wait too long. You could never really heal after being subjected to someone like that during your formative years. Mickey would benefit from professional help when he was ready, but in the meantime, Ian would be there for him however Mickey needed him to be. 

“No worries, Mick. I called in sick again. This is important. You’re important. That’s why I said I was sick yesterday, just wanted to be with you.”

“That right? You had big plans for my ass?” Mickey teased. 

“Oh, yeah. Big plans…” Ian winked, going along with Mickey’s playfulness, but he was still worried about him and his state of mind. “You need some time to yourself or anything?”

“No, think I’m good like this for now.” Mickey pulled Ian’s arm tighter around him. 

“Works for me. But I gotta ask. What was it you wanted to get back from your house? I mean, the bike, which I’m guessing is downstairs...but you mentioned something else.”

Mickey hesitated before shaking his head and sighing. “Not that I give a fuck, but you’re gonna laugh when I show you.”

“C’mon. Mick. No I won’t,” he promised. And he meant it. Anything that important to Mickey had to be pretty fucking special. 

“Fine, twist my arm. Lemme go get it.”

“No, I can.” It was obvious that Mickey was physically and emotionally spent—he needed to rest. “Where is it?”

“Coat pocket, the hidden one...on the inside.” Mickey yawned and shifted to make room for Ian to get up, resting his back against the couch cushion and closing his eyes. Ian figured they both could use a nap. Or maybe a nice hot shower together, then a nap.

Ian decided to bring the jacket over to Mickey, rather than rifle through his pockets. As soon as he turned around to make his way back over to the sofa, Ian realized that his weary boyfriend had dozed off. He bent down to kiss him on the cheek and pull a blanket over him, and Mickey captured his wrist. “It’s you.”

“What’s me, Mick?” Ian was perched on the edge of the sofa now, his fingers intertwined with tattooed fingers.

“In my pocket,” murmured Mickey before his jaw went slack and a soft sigh escaped from his lips.

Ian was confused for a second until it dawned on him to check Mickey’s jacket pocket, which is why he’d gotten up in the first place. He smiled as his curiosity, like an electric current, guided his hands inside Mickey’s coat. He fished around until he made contact with what felt like a photograph and gently pulled it out, his breath hitching in his throat at the realization that Mickey had risked quite a lot to go back for this relic from their past.

It was strange, looking at the image of that naive, smiling kid, with the face of someone so familiar, but a person he’d left behind years ago. The edges of the photo were worn, and Ian was surprised it had held up, given the cheap paper it was printed on. 

A few years back, Lip was taking a photography class and had shoved his stupid camera in Ian’s face, hence why he got the finger. Lip ended up really liking the picture and added it to his portfolio, but then made the mistake of bringing it by the Kash and Grab one day when Ian and Mickey were working. Somehow, the photograph disappeared into thin air, never to be seen again.

The redhead always figured Mickey had swiped it, but he assumed it was to piss Lip off or maybe to please Ian since he disliked the picture so much. Never could he have imagined that Mickey would actually keep the picture or that it would mean so much to him. All those fleeting moments from their youth when Ian feared Mickey didn’t love him enough, or he really didn’t want to be with him—he’d been so wrong. 

Ian set the picture down on the side table and maneuvered his body so that he was nestled against Mickey. “I love you, Mick. So fucking much.” The brunet stirred, wrapping an arm around Ian’s waist as if securing him so that he wouldn’t roll off. Sure, maybe they would have been more comfortable in their bed, but this way, they could be closer, and they’d gotten pretty good at making the most out of whatever situation got thrown their way. 

_Yep, he’s a honey badger, _thought Ian as he closed his eyes and breathed in Mickey’s familiar scent. For a recent birthday, Carl and Liam had given Yev a children’s book about the toughest animals on the planet, and at the top of the list was the honey badger—not a lion or a jaguar, as most people would have guessed—but instead, a small yet ferocious beast that would rarely back down from a fight. That was Mickey, scrappy as fuck and the protector of their family, and Ian wouldn’t want him any other way.

^^^^^^^^^^

** _A FEW WEEKS LATER…_ **

It was a crisp December morning, and the stars had aligned—Ian was off, and for the first time in several weeks, there were no soccer games or play dates or family obligations. Mickey was two weeks into a construction gig he’d accepted from Tommy, who’d gotten tired of ribbing Mickey at the Alibi and offered him a job. It wasn’t his first pick, but the work was honest, and Mickey was setting some of his earnings aside to start community college in the fall, which was coincidentally the same time Yev would start kindergarten. Ian promised to buy them matching lunch boxes, and Mickey, naturally, had given him the finger.

Ian woke up that Saturday morning with Mickey curled against him and picked up his phone to check the forecast—cold temperatures but not unbearable. He knew exactly what Mickey would want to do after their breakfast of banana pancakes Ian had promised him the night before.

This was their last weekend before Yev would begin to alternate weeks between their place and Svetlana’s. She and her new husband had returned to the city just before Thanksgiving and invited Mickey, Ian, and Yev over for a lavish meal where they worked out all the details of Yev’s custody. There was no need for lawyers since the agreement had been amicable, though Ian still couldn’t wrap his mind around not having Yev home every other week. It was going to take some getting used to, and he was going to be pretty bummed about it for awhile. At least Svetlana had promised Ian he could spend a few hours with Yev during her weeks until they all got used to the change. And Yev would spend Christmas with his dads and get to see his Aunt Mandy, who was finally coming for a visit.

Despite his looming sadness, Ian was determined to enjoy their day together, rousing a sleepy Yev to recruit his help with the pancakes and waking Mickey up once they’d made two sizable stacks. 

After breakfast, they’d all bundled up and headed downstairs to grab their bikes. Today was going to be a big day for Yev—no more training wheels. He’d finally agreed to try it, with very little cajoling from Mickey, because the brunet had listened to Ian when he’d told him to let Yev come up with the idea on his own.

Mickey had fixed up the bike he’d taken from Terry’s, then he’d convinced Ian to get his old bike from the Gallagher house. They'd been riding together for a few weeks now. Going into the weekend, Yev had asked Mickey to take the training wheels off his bike. Apparently, he wanted to be just like his two dads.

Ian was nervous about the whole thing. When they arrived at the section of the park with a more narrow trail and grass on either side, he held back to let Mickey do the coaching, quietly waiting for that moment when Yev would break away from his father's steady hands on the handlebars, throw caution to the wind, and pedal his way into the distance. 

Perhaps Ian wasn’t entirely ready for Yev to reach this milestone, already dreading the days when his miniature sidekick would become independent and prefer his friends over his fathers. But he reminded himself that was still years away, and this was here and now, and Yev was ready.

And he’d be fine, no matter if he soared or toppled to the ground—because deep down, the little boy already knew that should he fall, there’d be two sets of strong arms to help lift him back up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for reading and commenting on this fic, means the world to me. Thanks to whaticameherefor - you went above and beyond helping me with this series! And mad props to azuresky18 for your input and encouragement. 
> 
> Started a one shot, but I love these boys so much, had to keep going. I'm sad to leave this universe for now, but so excited for Season 10!! Woot, woot! Happy watching to all in the Gallavich squad!


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